


Bless The Broken Road

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bunker Feels, Confessions, Dean Deserves to be Happy, Dean Whump, Depression, Future talk, Grief/Mourning, Honesty, Human Castiel, M/M, Misunderstood Nougat, Protective Sam Winchester, Sexual Content, Supportive Sam, Temporary Character Death, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-01-10 16:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 105,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12302613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: Cas is gone. And in his place is Jack; a constant, unwavering reminder to Dean that he’s lost everything; his last chance, the one person he’s ever truly loved, his reason for getting up in the morning. Because Cas is never coming back. So Dean hates Jack, with all of his being, without even trying to, without ever needing to say it out loud.But Jack keeps talking in riddles, and every time he’s alone with Dean it’s as though he’s waiting for him to ask a question, and there’s a sense of waiting from being in Jack’s company that leaves Dean constantly on edge. What can Dean ever ask of the very thing that has stolen Cas from his world?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My Tumblr followers!](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+Tumblr+followers%21), [Desirae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desirae/gifts), [Wayward_Mom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wayward_Mom/gifts), [captainhaterade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainhaterade/gifts).



> Hello :)
> 
> Here’s the result of another Choose Your Own Destiel we did over on Tumblr—enjoy!
> 
> Here’s some things you should know about this fic…
> 
> The title, rating, tags, and synopsis were all chosen by the good folk following along on Tumblr  
> I’ll try to post a chapter a day until this is done, so if it’s angsty (it IS angsty) you should only have 24 hours or so wait for it to get less so (or more!)  
> Speaking of angst, this does start out fairly miserable; I’ve had several people sobbing at me already for how angsty it is, but you hopefully know me by now—almost all my fics have happy endings, and this one is not one of the exceptions that doesn’t. Expect fluff, fluff, and more fluff!  
> I had three lovely people look over this one for me before it was ready for posting, so huge thanks to Desirae, Wayward_Mom, and captainhaterade <3  
> I don’t think there’s any particular warnings I need to give you aside from the angst, but if there are I’ll try and remember to put them in the chapters as they’re posting  
> I… think that’s it. Thanks once again to my followers on Tumblr for doing this with me <3

_Like leaves. Like crisp, fall leaves, curled up into their own cores and turning to ash on contact._  

_Like kindling. Blackened and blistered by the lick of hungry flames. Crumbling to nothing but soot and dust between his fingers too cumbersome to salvage any fragment at all._

_This is all that is left of him now. This is all that remains of Cas. Ash and dirt and dust and nothing but the taunting of memories. Nothing but words unspoken and a whole world of regret._

_Dean runs his fingers through the crisp, crumbling remains of Cas’ feathers, unable to tell their essence from that of the dirt ground below. And if Dean thought he knew grief before, had even a flavor of what it was to really miss something when it was stolen from him, then it was nothing. A tease of an echo to the agony that is laid prone before him now…_

Dean woke with a start, sitting bolt upright and sure he could still taste that ash and dust from his dreams budding up from his lungs. He blinked, two, three times until his eyes focused, taking in the familiar shapes of the objects in his bedroom; a place that had been home for so long appearing then as nothing but foreign. Stark. Barren. Nowhere that he belonged.

In a gesture that had become his normal in the three weeks, five days and—Dean rolled to the side to clasp at his phone, wincing at the brightness of the screen—seven hours, since that night, since his world had ended, since that hope he’d been allowing himself to cling on to was stolen from him by an angel blade piercing through Cas’ gut; Dean wiped away the cooling tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand, cleared the sob he refused to let up out of his throat, and stared dead ahead, until his pounding heart calmed.

Mouth dry with the aftermath of five, six, maybe seven beers and a fifth of bourbon he’d found in the back of one of their pantries—sticky with dust showing just how long it had been since he’d drunk all that much—Dean grimaced at the taste of his own tongue and pitched to the side of the bed, socked feet hitting the cold floor of the bunker as he stumbled his way along its corridors to find something to slake his thirst.

The kitchen, a place he’d come to think of as his own little spot of sanctuary, might as well have been the back of any of the cheap diners he and Sam had spent their lives frequenting. A habit they’d passed on to Cas, Dean added to himself with his stomach dropping just for thinking his name, shaking fingers fumbling the fridge door open, half-furious that he’d drunk his way through all their beer.  

It should have been more disappointing, Dean thought, straightening up again with a grimace and making his way over to the sink for water instead, how quickly he’d reverted to his usual ways of existing. Immediately even, he amended, bending over to catch the water from the faucet straight into his mouth, no interest in making life easier for himself by filling a glass.  

In fact, he wasn’t quite back to his usual self at all, Dean demanded to himself when he stood straight again, gripping to the edge of the counter feeling like his knees might give out at any moment. Usually when despair hit him as hard at it had done with Cas  _dying_ on him—because if he’d just  _listened_ to him calling for him to go with them instead of being some kind of martyr, then he wouldn’t be gone, so of  _course_ this was Cas’ fault—he’d hit up whatever warm body was willing. Women, usually, his safe, go-to place of forgetting, but there were numerous occasions when he’d allowed himself to indulge in the other things he wanted, namely men. Equally faceless, equally irrelevant in the scheme of things, equally something just to kill some time.

But Cas—

His hand was up, raising to cover his mouth, and Dean couldn’t honestly decide if it was to try and prevent another sob from escaping, or if he was about to vomit.

Cas… Cas… Cas…

Closing his eyes, fingers gripping tighter still just to keep himself upright, Dean allowed three seconds of  _remembering_ Cas, then forced him from his mind all over again. It was a pointless exercise anyway; Cas had wormed his way into Dean’s every waking thought, and most of his sleeping ones too. But he had to do it. He had to try to forget. Because this was it now, this was  _it_ ; there  _was_ no coming back this time. No offers to make to sell his soul, no Chuck to bargain with, or Reaper to try and give himself in place of Cas.

He didn’t  _want_ a warm body to forget Cas, Dean realized, feeling nauseous, too stunned to feel anything else at all. He didn’t  _want_ anything; nothing to indulge himself in, no discussion, no sympathy, no distraction. Just enough alcohol so he wouldn’t have to think too much is all he asked. What he wanted—what he  _was_ , more than anything, was very simple. Numb. Cold. Empty. All the way through.    

Dean didn’t even want to break anything. There was no comfort his fists finding solid objects could bring, no bones to break, no jaws to crack, no shooting range targets to fire so many bullets at that his limbs ached from the effort. Nothing. Nothing was going to bring Cas back to him, so what was the point in even trying? What was the point to anything at all?

Cas…

A sob finally made a bid for freedom and left him curled over the sink, fighting and failing against letting another one out. This was pointless, Dean argued with himself, mourning and missing Cas was pointless. What was the point to anything when he was gone?

And  _Mom_ , Dean added to himself with a dry snort of laughter as he righted himself yet again, not even feeling the guilt he thought he should have for not trying harder to find her yet. They’d tried a little, or more accurately, Sam had. But between the funeral pyre for Kelly, and the careful wrapping of Cas’ body up in the backseat for the long drive home so they could at least bury him nearby, babysitting what could be a walking talking Apocalypse in the form of Jack, and so many people  _calling_ , asking questions that he had no answer for, there just wasn’t  _time_ for doing anything practical. How could he do anything at all, when it felt like he was on the precipice of an abyss?

He was tired, so tired of it all, that if he could just sleep for an indefinite period, maybe he’d wake, if not less numb, then at least fractionally more alive. Or something at least tolerable. A reason to want to breathe fresh air again.

Dean snorted at himself once more for the way he was rambling, stumbled some more so he could relieve himself in the bathroom, then made his way back through the bunker, and threw himself back into bed.

Cas was there to keep him company, of course. Always there behind the lids of his eyes, lurking in the corner of his thoughts, never, ever giving him a moment’s peace in own his mind.

***

The thing with Cas, Dean reflected in the morning over a generous breakfast of black coffee and painkillers, was that Cas already knew. Should have known, anyway; it wasn’t like it wasn’t  _obvious_ the way Dean constantly denied the way he felt about him. How he fussed and worried and generally made a big deal out of every single moment that he was gone. Or when Cas did anything, anything at all that could be considered risky. Or when he showed up unannounced to face Dean’s constant commenting and poorly disguised, even more poorly displayed affection. Truly, Dean thought, rolling his eyes, there was no way anyone could be  _that_ oblivious. Not even Cas.

Cas couldn’t have missed the ways he looked at him, shifted his voice only for him, made gestures that he would never, ever, in a million years, make for anyone else. Had never  _wanted_ to make for anyone else.

Like that fucking mixtape burning a hole in his nightstand, Dean snapped at himself, the bastard thing being in Cas’ trenchcoat pocket when he’d patted him down, removed his phone, keys, wallet; all the personal things he’d been collecting like a real person intent on sticking around.

Only he didn’t, did he, Dean huffed to himself, swigging back more coffee, and knowing, rationally, his anger for Cas not being there was nothing to do with Cas at all; it was to do with himself. His own inability to get his words out, to  _do_ something about the great unspoken  _something_ that had been brewing between him and Cas for however long.  

 _Needing a win_ , Dean growled out angrily under his breath; what was the point in even needing a win, when he wouldn’t be around to celebrate it happening. Or not, as the case may be, Dean pointed out to himself; who knew if they’d won or not. Nothing felt like a win, the days just bled into one long nightmare of not enough alcohol to let him sleep, and too many daylight hours to fill with the pointless things he had no reason to want to do anymore.

They hadn’t been on a single hunt.

Sam hadn’t even asked.

Sam, Dean thought to himself then, trying and failing to feel guilty for that at least. He barely spoke to Sam in passing, left him entirely alone to deal with Jack, didn’t even ask what he was trying to do to locate  _their_ mother, and as for Eileen…

Okay, Dean nodded to himself, feeling his entire body slumping forward, that was where he could find the guilt he’d been too numb to feel for anything else.

Sam hadn’t said anything of course. And why would he? Sam wasn’t oblivious to the way  _he_ felt about Cas, nor was he to the way Sam felt about  _her_. And when she was killed, when they didn’t even have time to grieve for her, let alone mourn for her for all the disasters that stacked up on top of them following her death, Sam had just kind of crumpled. That joy that had been beginning to light his eyes whenever he and Eileen had a conversation, that slight smirk of happiness around his lips he’d begun to allow himself to have; that was all snuffed out. Gone in an instant. Taking away the potential for the happy  _after_ Dean had always tried to envision for Sam.

And the way they’d  _killed_ her, Dean thought to himself with a grimace, setting a hellhound on a deaf woman possibly one of the sickest things he could think of—and he’d done his fair share of unspeakable acts during his time in hell.

They should just accept it, Dean huffed to himself, swigging back the dregs of his coffee, him and Sam weren’t cut out for things normal like  _family_ , or  _love_ , or any of those things they kept on fighting for so everyone  _else_ in the world got a shot at happiness. That wasn’t for them, they weren’t put on this earth for anything but duty and saving others. The sooner they were honest enough to accept that was their only reality, well, maybe things would get easier for them both. Maybe. He’d spent years trying.

Dean had no idea how Sam was feeling about any of it, he thought then, shrugging to himself, wanting to care, wanting to  _be_ there for his brother, but not even able to be there for himself.

Making a mental note of the few extra hours that has passed since  _Cas’_ passing, Dean thought of a handful of things he should do with his day, weighed and measured each one with half-assed consideration, then dropped his unwashed cup in the sink and took himself back to bed.

***

_He’s solid, warm, and whole, there right beneath his palms, smiling up at him so carefree, that it’s doing strange things to Dean’s heart. And Cas’ hands, hands that Dean’s spent a lot of time thinking about, they’re tucked up under his shirt. Spread wide against his skin, his palms and fingertips not the rough scratch Dean’s sure his own must be. Not that he’s on his skin just now, Dean smiles, toying with strands of hair that has been driving him a little crazy with distraction for so very long._

_“You okay, Cas?” Dean whispers, shifting a little where he’s lying between Cas’ legs on this huge, deep couch they’ve found themselves on in a corner somewhere that he doesn’t remember visiting._

_“Yes,” Cas replies simply, pressing his hands a little flatter to back his words up, then angling his chin up to claim another kiss._

_He can ask for all the kisses he wants, Dean thinks to himself as he leans down, the press of Cas’ lips against his own already addictive; in fact, Cas can ask anything of him at all. He’s here, he’s whole, and he’s with him, and there isn’t anything he could want that Dean won’t find a way to give him._  

_How could he not. How could he deny Cas anything. How could he ever forget that prone body laid out before him on the ground, the ash of his feathers, the stillness of his face? He can’t, Dean tells himself, shuddering at the constant memory, shuffling even closer to Cas, though that’s hardly possible considering how they’re arranged._

_“I am here, Dean,” Cas tells him, stroking a soothing circle over his lower back and smiling up at him so beautifully that it catches in Dean’s throat all over again. “I intend to always be here.”_

_Dean wants to ask how he always manages to read his mind. He wants to wrap Cas up in his arms and never let him out of his grip again. He wants to tell him he’s sorry, and he loves him, and he’ll spend the rest of his life doing better by him than he ever has in the past._

_But Cas is smiling at him. Warm and whole, and in this moment there is nothing else Dean either wants or needs._

_He leans down, closing the gap between them, brushes their lips together and indulges in another kiss…_

Dean sat up with a start, a choking sob already out of his mouth, his heart racing so hard he had to press his hand against it as though that might keep it from tearing out of his chest. His breath came out in shallow, thready bursts, and his skin felt alien to him, too tight and stretched to belong to him, to be his own flesh.

Cas was  _gone_ , he told himself; for the hundredth time, for the thousandth time, for however long he’d been saying it. And if that didn’t make Dean’s heart beat harder still: clutching at his chest Dean rolled to the side, ignoring the constant dull ache in his head from his constant drinking himself to sleep, and reached out shakily for his phone.

How could he not know how long Cas had been gone? How could he let himself stop counting?

Frantically searching back through the calendar as though that might jog his memory, Dean tried to work out the events of the past few days. There were glimpses, vague impressions of things he might have done, but everything was muted, blurred, muffled as though he was hearing and viewing everything from behind thickened glass.

How could he forget how long Cas had been gone?

Dean’s dreams when it came to Cas were usually cruel, letting him play out in his head all the things he wanted to do with him that he’d never allow himself to think about during the day. Not consciously, anyway, not without fighting the urge to think about those things constantly. It was strange; for all the fantasies he’d had about Cas over the years, it was the sweet things that hurt the most for waking up from. The hugs, the falling asleep together, the lazy make out sessions like the one he’d just been ripped from; they were things that taunted him most of all.

Dean wanted all of it. Every last moment, every last second of it. And he couldn’t have a single one.

Another, louder sob erupted from his mouth then, his eyes stinging with the constant onslaught of tears. To think all those years he’d denied how he was feeling for Cas with the vague sense in the back of his mind that  _some day_ they’d get there, and to have it all snuffed out by that angel blade protruding through his chest.

He wanted to blame Cas for trying to save the world single-handedly. He wanted to strap Lucifer to the rack and inflict untold tortures on him, new and old. He wanted to scream, strike out, rip down the very world around him. But Dean knew without even having to berate himself for it, that the blame for losing Cas fell solely on him.

If he’d just been honest about how he was feeling. If he’d just tried a little harder to make Cas know where he belonged. If he’d just admitted he was struggling, that he didn’t have a clue what they were supposed to  _do_ about the unspoken thing that was  _them_ for all that endless stretch of time.

If.  _If_. The cruellest word Dean thought he’d ever spoken, right up there next to  _almost_.

He’d  _almost_ told him. He’d  _almost_ blurted everything he was feeling. Hell, when Cas had run off with the Colt and he’d had him pressed up against that wall in a corner out of sight, he’d  _almost_ kissed him. Showed him in no uncertain terms what all his fussing and complaining and needling at him all the time was all about.

Love. Love was another cruel, vindictive word, one that had been whispering in the back of his mind for longer than Dean had ever defeatedly acknowledged. Love always out of reach, love always not his to have. He didn’t want to love anyone, didn’t want that burden of not even being able to get through an hour of his day without thinking, needing somebody else.  

But he did. He loved Cas. Needed him. And Cas, Cas was gone.

Weeks, however many of them there had been since Cas’ passing, and Dean finally gave in. Curled up into a ball crying helplessly into his pillow, Dean mourned. For the best friend, for the love he’d never shown him, for all the affection he should have given him, and ached to be returned.

Sore eyes, raw throat, broken heart; these were the very things Dean had tried to avoid by not admitting he was in love. Love, apparently, wasn’t for Winchesters, love was for other people who Dean and Sam spent their entire lives trying to save so that they  _could_ do things like love. And it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t, it never had been, but this was the life that he and Sam had been born into, and this was the burden they both shared.

Dean wondered then, if Sam had allowed himself to cry for Eileen, for Mom, for Cas—for any of it. Assumed that he had; Sam had always been better at showing his emotions than him.

But none of it changed anything. None of it brought anyone they’d lost back. None of it lessened the ache for being left behind. Dean curled up tighter into his pillow deciding the world could go on turning without him, for just a little while longer.  

***

“You know, Dean, there are many things I might’ve wanted to call you in the time I’ve known you. But I’ve never have taken you for being such a selfish bastard.”

Dean pinched the corners of his eyes feeling the grit there, wincing at the ache that was constantly his head of late, and cursed under his breath for ever having answered the phone.

“Are you listening to me?”

Jody’s voice grew increasingly more shrill with her anger, and Dean thought about ending the call and throwing his cell out of reach so he wouldn’t have to deal with it again. It had been such a good dream, he sighed, allowing himself to succumb to a dream world with Cas repeatedly visiting him, and mourning every time he woke up.

“Dean—”

“ _What_?”

The growl that croaked out of his own throat spoke of just how long it was since he’d said a word out loud to anyone. The few occasions he saw Jack he received nothing but curious stares, and Sam had long given up trying to speak to him directly. Not that he didn’t try to keep up a constant conversation with him through text messages, of course, that went on and on about  _knowing how he was feeling_ ,  _didn’t Dean think he was missing Cas too_ , and  _what were they going to do to get Mom back_?

Sam didn’t know how he felt. Sam didn’t miss Cas anywhere near as much as Dean was missing him; otherwise there would be a serious, serious problem between the two of them, he huffed to himself. And as for  _Mom_ —

“Don’t make me drive all the way down there to kick your ass, Dean. I don’t care how hard you try and bury yourself with this. You don’t get to shut us all out.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for your  _concern_ ,” Dean bit back at her, not wanting anyone’s sympathy at all. They didn’t even know what he was dealing with here, the years of missed opportunities and the endless regrets, and if—  

“You think I give a damn about how  _you’re_ feeling right now?” Jody yelled back, even more incredulous, taking him by surprise for all of a second before he accepted it, understood that completely. He’d earned no sympathy here, no compassion—and he didn’t want any of it either. They didn’t even know what they were giving him sympathy  _for_.

“I’ve got a girl here who’s lost everything— _everything_ , Dean; mom, dad, regular life— _everything_. And now she’s lost the closest thing she had to a—the only  _family_ she has left ‘sides me, and you’re busy drinking yourself to death, ‘cos you think  _you’re_ the only one who’s lost someone here?”

“It’s different,” Dean begin to argue, not thinking through what he wanted to say next.

“Yeah, it’s  _different_ alright,” Jody agreed, bitterness in her tone, “just ‘cos you’re too lost in that version of yourself you think you gotta be to ever admit how you feel about  _him_ , doesn’t mean the rest of us’ve gotta suffer along with your pity party for one now he’s gone.”  

Jody wouldn’t be the first person to strike a physical blow to Dean’s gut with only words, but in that moment the pain those words caused him had Dean sitting up too quickly and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his breath coming out in short rapid blasts as he fought back the constant nausea threatening.

“ _Dean_ ,” Jody yelled again in utter fury, so loud that he had to pull the phone away from his ear.

“Okay, okay,” he said tiredly, pinching over his eyes again and willing them to clear, “what?”

“Claire?” Jody demanded, and Dean could picture her simmering with rage. “Remember her? 20 year old who’s lost everything— _everything_ —and you can’t even answer a damn  _text_?”

Dean thought back over all the messages and voicemails he’d deleted without giving any attention, all the calls unanswered, and every other alert on his phone being silenced. He answered only Sam, and that was only to keep him from pounding his door down like he’d done after the first couple of days of being back in the bunker. He didn’t have the patience, the ability, for anybody else.

Least of all a girl grieving for a man who’d become almost a second father to her in a really, really messed up kind of way, Dean added to himself, assaulted with images of the tentative friendship that had been growing between Claire and Cas, and how when he’d gone through Cas’ phone before letting the battery die, he’d clicked through his gallery to find pictures sent to him by Claire—random things that meant nothing to Dean, but clearly everything to Cas—and even found a way to justify to himself reading through their messages.

A tendril of guilt wormed its way in next to those he already had no choice but to make room for, and Dean slumped back against the bed with another groan.

“Look,” Jody said, her sigh saying he was testing the very end of her patience, “I know you get lost beyond the sphere of your own little world—”

“Hey—”

“But she  _misses_ him, Dean. She does; she’s barely come out of her room without bursting into tears these past few weeks. She could do with someone to talk to that—that knew him better than I do.  _Did._ ”

Dean thought about having to find strength for Claire, and shook his head against it, adamant it would never happen.

“You know, in all the times he came here—”

“He came to your house?” Dean asked, incredulous enough to be sitting back up wide-eyed, his heart pounding, and jealousy of all things coursing through his veins for anyone having time with Cas.

“Of course he came to ours,” Jody retorted with a snort, “unlike  _some_ of us—”

“Yeah, okay—”

“Cas  _cared_ about Claire. He came here, had dinner with us. Made sure they had time together on their own. He… they cared about each other, Dean. If you’d bothered to get your head out your ass from time to time, you'd've seen it for yourself.”

That jealousy reared ugly in Dean then, thinking of time Claire got to spend with Cas when he hadn’t—of  _anyone_ Cas spent time with when he wasn’t with him. Which made him a possessive bastard who had not one right to be possessive, Dean huffed to himself, squeezing over his eyes for a third time.

“He was the first person she called with that whole… whole  _werewolf_ thing,” Jody added, her voice coming out a little strangled as though the memory of it was too much for her. “They were on the phone for hours, and he showed up the following day with armfuls of presents. All she wanted from him was a hug. And then he sat there on my couch for hours just… holding on to her when she needed it. Letting her talk.”

Anger that Cas had found time to visit Claire when he’d ignored so many calls from  _him_ pierced Dean hard, fury rippling its way up through him until he managed to get a grip on it, chide himself for being so selfish, and force it back down. Replaced entirely, and tenfold, with guilt; he’d not even thought to tell Cas about what had happened with Claire until a couple of days later, and had been so furious that the call had gone straight to voicemail again, he’d ended the call without saying a thing. Though he should have figured out Cas already knew about it by the next time they spoke, Dean thought to himself then with a grimace, because Cas was the one to mention Claire to  _him_.

Dean wanted to ask how Claire was doing. Wanted to apologize for not picking up the phone all the times she’d tried to get in contact. Wanted to take back the hasty way they’d buried Cas, because Dean couldn’t bear to  _wait_ any longer for that particular nightmare to be over, and he hadn’t spared a second to think that Claire might have wanted to say goodbye. He opened his mouth to speak, thought clearly about the words he wanted to form, then took a breath.

“I miss him.”

His words came out broken and cracked, both for the time it had been since he’d last said much of anything out loud, and the sob forcing its way up out his throat.  

“I miss him so much, and I don’t think I can… think I can…”

But Dean’s words failed him. Words he’d had no intention of saying, honesty he never wanted to let out, tumbling out of him unchecked and leaving his chest aching so hard it felt like it might cave in.

“I miss him,” he said again, unable to stop it, the confession coming out barely louder than a whisper, and said more to the air of the room than Jody on the other end of their call.

Jody’s repeated calling of his name finally got Dean’s attention from where his mind had switched off altogether, and instead of finding a way to take back his words, give them a different meaning, Dean cradled the cellphone against his ear and allowed tears to leak freely down his face. Maybe it was the alcohol, the broken sleep, the constant dreams of Cas that he’d had every night since getting back to the bunker, but he couldn’t stop himself; choked sobs erupted up one after the other stacking up high on top of all his regrets.

“Dean—”

But Jody couldn’t reach him. Dean finally pressed down the thumb he’d been holding over the end button then threw his cell across the room, not hearing it thud against the wall and slide to the floor.

***

_“Here?”_

_Dean snorts at the surprise in Cas’ voice and turns just enough to see the way he’s peering up at the sky out the windshield, then jumps out the car. He runs around, light on his feet with his giddy heart soaring, and if what they’re about to do is something out of some stupid teen romance then Dean doesn’t care._  

_There’s so many things Cas has never gotten to experience, and if he’s honest, a fair few Dean’s never experienced himself either. This is a good a start as any, he decides, cracking open Cas’ door and extending a hand out to him that Cas takes, looking both amused and shy at the gesture, then pulls him to his feet, tangling their fingers together once they’re upright and leaning in for a kiss._

_“Wait here for me,” he urges, squeezing Cas’ hands and practically skipping to the trunk, pulling out two thick blankets he’s purposely stowed in there along with the flask of hot chocolate that’s a little too sweet for him but that he knows Cas loves. Something to do with the contrast of bitter and spicy, or something, he’d said, but Dean doesn’t really remember anything but how happy he’d looked drinking it._

_That, and how he’d thumbed away a tiny bit of that hot chocolate from the corner of his mouth then cupped his jaw to drag him into a kiss, that he can still feel Cas smiling through, even now._

_“Hop on up,” he says, patting the Impala’s hood after fanning out the blankets so they won’t feel the cold of the metal digging into their backs. Cas, of course, is graceful where Dean has to clamber his way up. But it doesn’t matter either way, because soon they’re lying back against the windshield with Cas in the crook of his arm, and Dean’s heart is thrumming even harder with that giddy excitement in his chest._

_“This is where you come to think?” Cas asks, but his voice is already a little wistful, and Dean wonders if taking Cas stargazing so he has to look up at a night sky he is no longer a part of wasn’t such a good idea._

_“Yeah,” he says, hesitant and thinking up a wall of apologies, turning his head just to watch the way Cas is looking up._

_“The stars,” Cas says softly, “they are… beautiful, Dean. I have… rarely taken the time to observe them like this.”_

_“They’re really something, aren’t they?” Dean replies, half-holding his breath._

_“Yes,” Cas agrees, turning to look at him with a soft smile, “I can… understand why you like it here. The quiet, the… stillness. This view.”_

_“This view’s not so bad either, Cas,” Dean says, reaching out with his free hand to nudge against his stubbled cheek. He knows it’s little more than a line, but with Cas he means it, means every last endearment and each never before spoken out loud word._

_Cas smiles, and even in the pale light of moonlight and stars, Dean can tell that he’s blushing a little. He leans forward to nuzzle against one of those red-tinged cheeks, and smiles as their stubble brushes together, and the resultant flare of heat it raises leaves Dean’s jaw tingling in the best kind of ways._

_He leans in a little again, intent on only giving him a soft kiss, but Cas has other ideas. He sneaks his hand up and out to cup around the back of Dean’s neck and draw him in, and the satisfied little hum against his lips has Dean crowding even closer to him, the stars overhead forgotten, the sanctuary he usually seeks here abandoned in favor of Cas in his arms…_

***

Every time Dean woke up, he had a few seconds of reprieve; suspended in the essence between dreaming and awake, where the softness of being with Cas was still graspable, and alertness hadn’t come to shove him into a reality he didn’t want. The seconds dragged on longer than normal that morning, and when that reality slammed hard against his chest leaving him gasping as it always did, Dean had a moment of berating himself for not having enough alcohol in his system to numb his waking, and another remembering Jody’s call, before curling up into his pillow in grief and shame.

“... _Cas_...”

For the first time since he’d screamed his name in that void before Sam dragged him through, Dean allowed himself to say Cas’ name out loud. And it hurt, more than anything Dean thought had hurt ever him. More than anything he’d ever allowed get to him.  

This was why he went numb and hid behind too much alcohol, Dean thought as he curled in tighter to himself, tears streaming down his face and wicking into his pillow, and desperate sobs choked out of him one after another. If he was numb with alcohol he couldn’t think too much, and if he blocked out the world with music, he couldn’t notice the silence in the air that was the absence of Cas’ voice. He couldn’t miss what he couldn’t see, feel, hear, think about, he reasoned. But when he couldn’t shut it out, this was what he was left being.

Dean was a wreck.

No one got to see him like this. No one; not even Sam, when he’d stood by Dean in some of the darkest moments in his life. There had always been a turned back, a discreet looking elsewhere, a silence radiating that said if Dean needed to talk he would listen, even if he knew a new Apocalypse would have to hit before Dean would ever talk.

But this time, Dean couldn’t fight the pain he was in. The anger at himself hurt more than anything else for all those missed opportunities, clever words he’d thought he’d said to Cas when really, he’d said nothing at all. He could have taken him for a drink sometime and admitted he didn’t know what he was doing. He could have kissed that confused look off his face a thousand times and agreed to figure it out between the two of them. He could have been brave, confessed everything he was feeling, every lingering moment and every hidden thought. And that, of course, was all with assuming that Cas reciprocated what he was feeling, Dean huffed to himself, a hacking cough taking over in between his hiccuping sobs.

Of course Cas  _reciprocated_ , Dean growled at himself. How much had he sacrificed for Dean without question, looked to Dean for explanation of what he was feeling, only to be slapped on the back, labeled as  _brother_ , and firmly turned away. Only to be drawn back in again, flirted with discreetly, until Cas’ head surely must have been in a spin. The guilt he felt for all of that in particular struck Dean repeatedly, those looks on Cas’ face that Dean had wanted to kiss off, or hug him until they softened, or lead him away by the hand somewhere so they could really  _talk—_  

Pointless, Dean chided himself, pointless. There were no more second chances, no more opportunities to fix things, no way of ever making all of that up to Cas. Nothing he could do; had Cas died thinking that Dean didn’t love him? Didn’t care about him, want him, need him in all the ways he did?

“ _I love you. I love all of you.”_

Dean closed his eyes to another near-miss of losing Cas, when he’d been so in denial of Cas dying there right in front of him that he’d pulled down his shirt to cover over that spreading wound and made quips until he could no longer look him in the eyes. And that  _I love you_ , Dean thought with a painful swallow, it wasn’t the first. Even he in all his denseness recognized all the times Cas’ statements had been intended just for him, but then he’d covered them up with a blanket statement to include other people; all because Cas knew all too well what denial Dean was in.

_Did you think I didn’t love you back, Cas? Did you… did you never figure that out?_

Dean curled himself up tighter still around his pillow, and pleaded with himself to go back to sleep.

***

 


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m… sorry. About before.”

Dean could feel the residual anger still lingering through the phone, he would swear it, but gritted his teeth and waited for Jody to talk.

“You should be.”

“I am,” Dean agreed, nodding even though she wasn’t there to see it, “I’m sorry about everything. So much. I… I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for Claire—” Dean’s voice cracked over her name and another unwanted sob forced its way out of his mouth. “—I’m sorry I didn’t… Cas’d be so mad at me for that. I should’ve… I should’ve called… I should’ve… I’m sorry.”

Having no idea where those fresh tears were coming from, Dean angrily brushed them away from his cheeks and waited for Jody’s judgment.

“You never got to meet Sean and Owen.”

Jody’s words were confusing, and it took Dean a few seconds of shaking his head back and forth before he could remember the names belonged to her husband and son.

“And after I… after I lost ‘em, I threw myself into work. Literally; I took on extra cases, got… more heavy-handed than I’m proud of. Spent hours in the gym, and just… blocking it all out, you know? After the first couple of days—maybe not even that long, I put on a mask like a second skin and just… shut it all out. I didn’t grieve properly for _months._ ”

“I’m… sorry,” Dean stumbled out, not knowing what else to say.

“And I kept on running from it,” Jody sighed, sounding as though she was walking around her kitchen; Dean imagined her topping off her coffee and moving back through to sit at her desk. “I just kept pushing it down, ignoring it, keeping myself busy. Until one day they caught up with me. It wasn’t an anniversary, or anything big, or important. I found an odd sock of Owen’s; Sean had picked ‘em up on a whim when he went to the store thinking they were funny as hell. Owen barely took ‘em off.”

Dean listened to Jody’s wistful laugh, and ached for his friend, allowing himself to consider how someone else might be feeling for the first time in weeks.

“And I just… I stood there, with the laundry basket on my hip, staring at this damn sock and bawling my eyes out,” Jody continued, that laugh becoming self-deprecating. “And then it all hit. I had to call in sick, took myself back to bed for almost a week without barely moving. Visited their graves. Said proper goodbyes. Finally got around to calling back all the people who’d been worrying about me and trying to reach out.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t,” Jody agreed, and that anger that was still there at the beginning of their phone call disappeared immediately, Jody far more forgiving than Dean thought he deserved.

“I just… I… I’m not doing well with this,” Dean sighed, and if that wasn’t one of the hardest things he thought he’d ever admitted in his life.  

“Of course you aren’t,” Jody snorted, but it didn’t sound like she was trying to be cruel, “you’ve been… denying how you feel about him for… well, as long as I can remember.”

“Am I… was I that obvious?” Dean asked, dismayed at the thought of everyone seeing through all his efforts to keep Cas at arm’s length so he didn’t have to deal with the truth. If they all knew, why didn’t they _say_ something, Dean demanded to himself then; if they’d have _said_ they knew, then none of this might’ve happened. He could have opened up, free of the fear of judgment, and instead—

Dean berated himself, hard, for blaming anyone but himself for the mess he’d made of things with Cas, and felt further tears prick in his eyes for not being able to go back.

“Dean,” Jody said, a smile obvious in her voice, “the way you talked about him. The way you _were_ around him; I didn’t get to see you all together, but… but whenever I called when he was with you, you’d be so different, you know?”

“I—”

“You sounded better. Happier, whenever he was around,” Jody continued, that smile more evident in her voice.

He _was_ better. He _was_ happier when he had Cas with him, Dean thought to himself, closing his eyes to the constant, sinking reminder that Cas would never be with him again.

“I think he… he was the same,” Jody added then, and Dean’s stomach dropped, not knowing what she was meaning. “The times he came through, whenever you were mentioned—and one time when you sent him a message—his face would just… soften, you know?”

He didn’t know, Dean thought, slumping further into himself, how _could_ he know?

“Claire talked about it,” Jody said with a laugh, and Dean’s breath caught in his throat.

“About what?”

“About the way you two were together,” Jody answered, and tease beginning to seep into her voice.

“Like what?”

“Like… I think the exact words she used were _like an old married couple_ and that you had this _my two oblivious dads_ vibe going on,” Jody laughed, and Dean wanted to blush for it, to find a way to deny it as he instinctively did for all things like that. But he didn’t, just ached for so much that might have been, if he’d only found the words he needed for Cas and managed to say them out loud.

“I don’t… I don’t think I know how to get over this,” Dean admitted, his words soft, his throat catching, and tears pricking in his eyes all over again.

“I’m not saying you _will_ get over this,” Jody retorted, and though the words hurt, Dean appreciated the honesty of them. “I won’t even tell you it’ll get easier, ‘cos I can’t… I can’t imagine what you’re going through, exactly.”

“‘Cos so much of this is self-inflicted?” Dean bit out as a guess, a surge of self-hatred hitting him hard in the gut and leaving him wanting to curl in on himself all over again.

“Dean,” Jody sighed, “I can’t—I can’t pretend to know why you… I can only guess at what—how life’s been for you, for not letting anyone in to… to not allow yourself to love someone like—like I think you did him.”

Jody’s fumbling over her words stabbed further shards of hurt through Dean, but he straightened his spine through it; Cas was gone now, so whatever he admitted, didn’t admit, or in this case, didn’t deny, was all irrelevant.    

“But?” he prompted when she stopped talking, and heard her snort.

“I got… nothing else to add,” she said, sighing, and Dean smiled in answer, not knowing what to say either.  

“I don’t think I… I can’t talk to Claire,” Dean said then, choking back another sob at imagining seeing Claire and having her grief radiate back at him.

“I get that,” Jody replied, “I do. But can you… can you at least text her back? Let her know you’re going through this, too? I know she already knows that, but… she needs to hear it, Dean. She needs to know she’s not alone in this.”

“I… I’ll try,” Dean told her, not wanting to promise anything more concrete.

“That’s all I ask.”  

“I’m… I’m really sorry about—”

“You don’t need to tell me sorry,” Jody interrupted, and Dean was sure he could hear her shaking her head, “you need to get yourself together, hard as it is, and you need to… get on with stuff. Cas wouldn’t want it any other way; you know that.”

Dean had no idea how he was going to do any of that, so just gave a noncommittal hum in answer.

“And talk to Sam,” Jody added, sounding frustrated, “out loud. Not just with texts. He’s been… he’s worried about you.”

Another wave of guilt crashed down on Dean making his spine curve forward and his eyes ache with how much they wanted him to succumb to sleep once again.

“Yeah—”

“You’ve both got a lot to deal with, Dean,” Jody told him, a little sterner as though she felt she needed to get through to him.

Dean grimaced to himself, ticking off a list of things like Jack, their Mom, and Lucifer, and having no idea how they were supposed to even start.

“Yeah,” he huffed, shaking his head, listening to Jody smiling again.

“And get out of that damn bunker,” she added, “get some fresh air.”

“I’ll—”

“We’re here if you need us,” Jody told him in a tone that suggested he better be reaching out for one of them soon unless he wanted a car full of people wanting to help him feel better turning up on his doorstep.  

“I’ll… I’ll try, okay?” Dean sighed, thinking whatever she thought he might be able to do would have to wait until he’d slept again, at least a little more.

“Take care of yourself, Dean. We’re all here, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, holding back a retort that the only person _he_ needed was the one person who wasn’t there. Ending the call, Dean tucked himself back beneath the comforter and drew it high up around his face, closing his eyes to find Cas waiting for him as he drifted back to sleep.

***

“What’s he doing?”

Dean didn’t bother to hide the suspicion in his voice, turning his gaze in the direction of the doorway even if there was no one else for Sam to think he was talking about.

“Reading. Watching Youtube videos,” Sam shrugged, “every time I go in there, he’s _researching_ , apparently.”

“Great,” Dean nodded, “planning all new fun ways to make our lives even bigger hells than they already are.”

“Dean,” Sam replied, that hesitance in his voice Dean recognizing immediately as the one he used when Sam was expecting to get his head bitten off, “he’s… okay. _Normal_. Seems it, anyway.”

“There is nothing _normal_ about him,” Dean denied, pointing at the doorway again and feeling anger rise in his gut.

“He’s not doing any—”

“If you tell me he’s not doing any _harm_ …” Dean didn’t bother to finish his sentence. If Sam couldn’t see how much he hated having _Jack_ there with them, when for all they knew he could bring the very world down around them—and not to mention how much he was responsible for Cas—  

Dean gripped harder to the coffee clenched in his hand and forced his thoughts elsewhere, determined not to think of Cas outside his room.  

“What did you wanna do?” Sam asked, his voice raising, the frustration he must have been storing up ever since Dean had done his disappearing act seeming ready to erupt. “Leave him out there on the side of the road or something? Without any kind of guidance, or—”

“You honestly believe we can guide _that_ to do anything? Sam, he’s a walking fusion bomb for all we know—”

“For all we _know_?” Sam repeated, shoving back in his chair. “That’s the whole point, Dean; we don’t _know_ anything. You wanna risk whatever he may or may not be capable of by turning him out on the street?”

_“...you can’t stay…”_

Dean’s knuckles turned white with the force of his grip, that look on Cas’ face from when he’d made him leave the bunker rarely far from his mind anyway, but Sam’s words were like slashing open the wound of that memory, and Dean’s coffee was no longer strong enough.

Standing fast enough to make the chair scrape across the floor, Dean stormed through to the kitchen, swung open the fridge door and dragged out a beer, not bothering to offer Sam one for the expected retort about it still being mid-morning, then threw himself back down into his chair. Glared away Sam’s pointed look until he huffed in that way he did when controlling his temper, and waited for whatever words of wisdom he was about to offer him.

“It’s better he’s here, where we can at least try and keep an eye on him, than out there somewhere we can’t.”

“We’re not enough to control him if he goes off.”

“No, maybe not,” Sam agreed, pinching his lips together as though biting back a snarkier retort, “but it’s better than… it’s just better like this, okay?”

Dean didn’t have the energy to argue his case; not that he even really had one. He concentrated instead on the bubbles of beer burning down his throat, and waited to see if Sam had anything else to say.

“You’re out then.”  

Dean was sure Sam didn’t mean to have accusation in his voice, but his words came out that way anyway. He shrugged in answer, not trusting himself to speak, darting his eyes around the library noting not a thing had changed about it in however many weeks he’d been sticking to his room.

 _The story of our lives_ , Dean snorted to himself, potential apocalypses lurking around the corner and a lifetime of murderous monotony; what would a Winchester be without such a world?

A quiet voice, sounding suspiciously like Cas’ when he sometimes-tactfully accused Dean of being a drama queen in not so many words, questioned Dean’s outlook on things. Leaving Dean missing the private conversations he and Cas had together so badly, it was yet another punch to his gut; Dean tipped back his beer bottle, and tried to wash the feeling away.

“Dean?”

“What’d you want me to say?”

“Anything,” Sam said, his hands dropping noisily to his lap, “something. Tell me… how you’re doing, what’s going on with—”

“This is _it_ ,” Dean shrugged, not wanting to hear him out.

“What. This?” Sam said, tilting his chin towards the bottle. “Drinking, sleeping, eating when you can be bothered? Staying in your room all day—”

“Not like I got any other place to be.”

“Dean,” Sam said, patience so obviously wearing thin, “Mom—”

“She made it so far on her own here,” Dean shrugged again, “didn’t need us for nothing. Sure she’s doing just fine over—”

“With _Lucifer_ ,” Sam spat back at him in disbelief, “in a whole other... _reality_ , with—”

“Maybe she’ll find the _us_ over there and—”

“Enough.”

Dean paused with the bottle an inch from his lips, staring at Sam over the top of it, and taking in the way his cheeks flushed red in anger. Sam stared back, shoulders rising and falling with the effort it was apparently taking to keep himself together, and Dean had an idle thought that perhaps he’d finally pushed him hard enough to argue back.

“What?”

“Dean. If you wanna sit here and stew in… I don’t know if it’s guilt? Grief? Anger? But if you’re gonna stay here, indefinitely, doing nothing, you’re gonna have to clue me in. ‘cos I can’t—I can’t _sit_ here any longer. I need to _do_ something.”

“So go do that,” Dean nodded, “go hunt, fight, make yourself a fake ID and go live the life we’ve never had. It’s all pointless anyway, so just… go. Do whatever you want.”

“And you’ll do what?” Sam huffed, eyes wide with growing incredulity. “Sit here indefinitely?”

“If the world’s gonna end, a bunker’s sort of the best place to be, don’t you think?”

“Dean,” Sam growled back at him, edged with fury, “you can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“You know what.”

“We need—”

“You and me,” Dean sighed, tipping the bottle towards him, “maybe we’ve got it all wrong. All this fighting we keep on doing; not getting either of us anywhere. Not making any kind of difference—”

“It’s making all the difference,” Sam countered, shaking his head.

“Yeah?” Dean huffed. “Well I’m about done with it. All of it.”

“Cas wouldn’t want you to be like this; you know he wouldn’t.”

Dean choked on the mouthful of beer he’d just taken, and it took a full minute for him to catch his breath. His eyes, already sore from the constant flood of tears he shed in private, stung harder with the force of them watering through his coughing, and had him balling up his fists to rub against them to ease some of the pain.

“Dean—”

“Never say his name again.”

Sam froze mid-gesture, eyes growing comically wide, and Dean glared back at him long enough to think he’d stopped him talking. He continued sipping at his beer, eyes on Sam the entire time, not sure if he was looking for a reason to disappear back into his room, or needing to release some of the tension across his shoulders, by goading for a fight.

“Dean—”

“I mean it. You ever, _ever_ say his name to me again, and I’ll—”

“He was my friend too. Our family: I’m allowed to—”

“You don’t get to talk about him again,” Dean snarled once more, banging the bottle down on the table, “no one does. Not you, _him_ , Claire, _Jody_ ; none ‘o you. You don’t—”

“He wasn’t _yours_ to decide that,” Sam countered, not even budging when Dean leaned forward to glare at him harder.

“What; you think he was somebody’s _possession_ , or something, huh?”

“I didn’t mean it like—”

“What part of _you’re not talking about him again_ aren’t you getting?”

“And what part of us all calling you out on this _bullshit_ aren’t _you_ getting?” Sam retorted, just as incensed. Dean gripped the edge of the table for fear of what his hands might do if he didn’t, and felt everything slow, in that rage-like echo he occasionally felt from the way the Mark had surged fury through him. Forced himself to breathe before allowing himself to open his mouth.

“What—”

“I talked to Jody.”

An ice-like trickle made its way down Dean’s neck and along the length of his spine, recalling what he’d thought was a private conversation, and fighting the urge to just _run_.

“So?”

“So, it’s just… _great_ , to hear the things you can’t say out loud to your own brother coming from someone else,” Sam bit back at him, crossing his arms and staring back at Dean hard enough to keep him in his chair.  

“Like what?” Dean asked, that icy feeling seeping through each of his limbs, his head getting lighter and his heart fluttering all out of time.

“If you think, for even a second, that I didn’t already _know_ how you felt about him? About _Cas_?” Sam said, purposely saying the name he’d been told not to, and daring Dean with a look to do anything about it.

“You don’t know—”

“I’ve lived with you, all these years,” Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes, “been by your side through every single fight you guys’ve had, every time you’ve had a falling out and aren’t talking, every time he’s been off somewhere and not answering your calls, and you’re climbing the walls but won’t talk about it. Every last one of ‘em, Dean; you think I’m stupid or something?”

Dean was glad he’d cried himself raw by that point, he thought, his eyes stinging once more for the onslaught of tears that were all but dried out. But he choked back a rattling sob, fingers toying with the bottle and twisting it on the table, eyes blurring as he watched it and unable to raise his head to look at Sam.

“Look,” Sam said, clearly fighting to control his words, “I don’t know why… what reason you think you had for thinking you had to keep any ‘o that from me. And I’d… I’ll still listen if you wanna talk about it—which I know you don’t.”

Dean fought to keep eye contact despite how excruciating it was, clenching his jaw so tightly his entire neck began to ache with the strain.  

“But you don’t get to act like you’re the only one grieving here. You don’t… it’s not only you that’s missing him.”

“It’s different,” Dean insisted, because it was, it really was.

“Right now?” Sam said, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t care. I don’t; not why you think it’s any different for you, or why you think you’ve got some sort of ownership on missing Cas—”

“You—”

“But we’re _here_ , Dean. We’re still _here_. And we’ve got Jack to deal with. Mom—I don’t care how much you wanna act like you don’t give a crap about getting her back—”

“I—”

“And I know you’ve been too caught up in feeling sorry for yourself to help me figure out what we’re doing here—”

“Sam—”

“But we have to get _on_ with stuff,” Sam finished, not allowing him to interrupt even for a moment. “Cas wouldn’t want us to be like this— _you_ to be like this. Bobby’d… Bobby’d be kicking our asses for not being out there doing what we’re s’posed to be doing—”

“Maybe there’s more to all this than just hunting—”

“And if you really believed that,” Sam retorted like he had a response already prepared, “I’d be the first one to encourage you go get it. But you’re not doing anything, Dean. You’re just… existing.”

“Maybe that’s all I got—”

“Yeah, well, maybe it is,” Sam agreed, “but since when does that mean we— _you_ , give up on all this, huh?”

“And since when’ve you been all about us keeping on fighting?” Dean threw back at him, knowing it was a lame response.

“Long enough to tell you it’s time to get your head out your ass.”

Which Dean knew he couldn’t argue with, so chose to say nothing.

“You’ve got maybe two, three days, before I head out,” Sam added then, making Dean’s heart give a hard thud of protest.

“Where?”

“Back to that lake—that house. I wanna see if the rift—”

“Don’t you think we’ve messed with enough stuff we don’t understand?”

“Don’t _you_ think we’ve caused just enough problems when we _haven’t_ interfered with stuff?” Sam countered, his entire posture screaming in constant challenge.

“Sam—”

“Three days,” Sam said, staring him down, “I’m giving you three more days for moping around here, and then I’m heading out, whether you’re coming or not.”

“And Jack?” Dean asked, loathing the thought of being left alone with him almost as much as the thought of going anywhere. How could he explain to Sam, that part of his reason for staying in the bunker was because it was the closest he would ever be again to Cas?

“He can decide if he wants to come with, or stay put,” Sam shrugged, which Dean did not like the sound of at all.

“I’ll be ready,” he answered, knowing he didn’t feel it, “if one of us goes, we all go.”

“Good,” Sam nodded then standing, his face so obviously torn between wanting to offer him _comfort_ and keep arguing some more, that Dean felt his own anger softening a little. Morphing back into the tiredness he constantly felt and leaving him ready to go back to bed.

“I’ll… be ready,” Dean repeated, unable to form any other words. Sam nodded once more then spun on his heel, leaving Dean to watch after him, and then listen to his footsteps fading away.

***

In a ritual he tried not to think too much about, Dean pulled down an old shoe box from a shelf in his closet and dropped it on the bed, sinking down beside it. He braced, as he always did, for the blast of memories that would hit him the moment he lifted the lid, tossing that to the side with his eyes fixing on the box’s contents and deciding where to start.

There was Cas’ wallet, with a driver's’ license and a couple of long-expired cards identifying him as Jimmy Novak, along with the two Dean had given him so he could feel less guilt about Cas having to fend for himself. A few dollars, a handful of receipts, and the things that had hit Dean hardest from that fold of leather in his hand; three photographs. One of Dean and Sam, one of the three of them, and one of Cas with Claire.

Dean swallowed hard, putting the wallet back in the corner of the box and reaching for the car keys, turning each one over along with the few keyrings to study thoroughly, feeling their coldness digging into his skin, then carefully dropping them back in as well.

Dean picked up Cas’ cell, battery long since dead, and unable to bring himself to charge it to read through all those messages again. He’d got stuck on the messages between himself and Cas, heart aching for the way Cas seemed to save every single message he received as though they were a physical, precious thing, unable to deny the softness in their words for one another when their conversation was private, and certain he couldn’t face seeing that for himself all over again.

With his fingers irrationally trembling, Dean slid the cell back into the box, staring down at the remnants that were all that were left of Cas aside from his trench coat carefully hung up in his closet, and had to close his eyes to the realization that this was it—this was all there was to show for Cas’ life. In all the time he’d been on Earth, this was all he’d accumulated.  

He deserved so much _more_ , Dean sobbed to himself, a repetition of an understatement that had been taunting him for weeks. Cas deserved more than these few, meaningless possessions. Something of substance; a sense of belonging that didn’t mean he had to constantly be chasing a _win_. For himself, for Dean, for the greater cause they were always striving for, it didn’t matter: if Cas had truly felt he belonged there with them, then maybe he wouldn’t have made half the decisions that he had. If Dean had listened, taken the time to talk things through with him instead of snarling back at him with kneejerk reactions, if—

Dean cursed himself furiously knowing it would do him no good. He’d berated himself with these thoughts a thousand times over, hated himself for every single time he’d unsuccessfully tried to reach out. He’d not done enough—not _been_ enough to reach Cas on so many occasions, including the one that had torn him from him forever.   

Pressing his fingers into his eyes to stop the onslaught of yet more tears, Dean shook his head in denial and told himself he would not cry again. But there was still one item in that box that he had to handle, that this bizarre ritual wouldn’t let him skip over before he could put the taunting box of memories away again. Not that he didn’t have a constant barrage of memories launching themselves at him at all times, of course.

With a shudder of self-loathing, Dean sucked in a rattling breath and forced his eyes open again, fingers reaching out to pinch the casing of that mixtape and lift it up to turn over repeatedly, as though by doing that there would be something new revealed.  

They’d been arguing, because of course they had; Dean’s far too heavy-handed reproach for Cas resulting in them staring each other down with their shoulders rising and falling in utter fury at one another, glaring as though daring the other to look away.

Dean remembered the conversation as clear as anything, mostly because for every word he wanted to say to Cas, an entirely different one had been said out loud. It was as though he had no control over his mouth whatsoever when it came to those kinds of conversations with Cas, and Dean knew it was because he’d spent so long schooling all the things he said to him, that nothing ever came out right.

He and Sam had just returned from a hunt, a simple salt and burn following a ghost causing mayhem at a small town restaurant, and enough food given in gratitude to mean Dean wouldn’t have to cook for days. The salt and burn was straightforward, but they’d both suffered some injuries; Sam had a killer headache from a number of pans being launched at the back of his head by the ghost, and Dean himself had a large gash above his eyebrow that hadn’t quite stopped bleeding, along with several missing fingernails that he still winced for the pain of even then.

Cas had been waiting for them, already tired from whatever thing he’d been doing off on his own. It wasn’t so long after Lucifer possessing him, yet before he’d gone on that _road trip_ with Crowley in search of him; Dean grimaced at the thought of it, then harder still at the hypocrisy of how much he hated the thought of Cas spending all that time with Crowley, when he’d disappeared for months doing the same thing himself.

Crowley, Dean sighed then to himself, interrupting his Cas melancholy for another flavor of loss, and closing his eyes to it. Yet another person he should have had a dozen conversations with in place of the actual ones he’d had.

But, Dean thought, turning back to that evening in the bunker, when they’d walked in to find Cas waiting for them, and Dean had been so happy to see him that he’d fought hard against the urge to charge across the room and hug him tight, his greeting instead coming out harsh, and demanding to know where he’d been so long.  

Cas had taken it, as he always did, mumbled things about needing to take some time for himself, then without invitation had first relieved Sam of his headache, and then reached out for Dean, soothing not only the wounds he’d been inflicted with, but also Dean’s _being_ a little for that fraction longer press of his fingertips against his forehead than he’d given to Sam.   

And the look he’d given him, Dean thought, his stomach rolling for it, there was pleading there, as well as longing, and a whole other bunch of things he’d spent months debating on the meaning of. But as always, he’d pushed the thoughts down, allowed them freedom only when he was alone and could think about them without anyone else aware of his internal musings. How hard he wished then, for having the strength to say some of them out loud.

When Cas had dropped his hand from finishing healing Dean he’d swayed on the spot, his own eyes closing as he tried to orient himself, the depletion of his grace taking more out of him than normal, and leaving Dean frantically reaching out. Gripping his arms tight to hold Cas up, and almost swaying in time with him until he’d righted himself.

When Cas had blinked his eyes open again, Dean was hit with a wall of fury. That Cas would repeatedly do that to himself just to heal them was infuriating, and he had to make Cas understand they weren’t worth risking doing himself such harm. With a look that Cas knew the meaning of having received it repeatedly, Dean had turned on his heel, stormed his way through the bunker knowing Cas would know to follow him to his room.

“I don’t know how many times we’ve gotta go over this,” Dean had said, terse as he never failed to be terse with Cas on this subject, and so many others besides.  

“I will not regret doing anything to help,” Cas had retorted as he had done, countless times before. And Dean had laid into him; yelling about all the times Cas had pushed himself too hard and left himself drained, or injured. How many times he’d charged into situations without thinking, or even a call for help. How often he did things without ever stopping to think of the consequences of his actions. How useless he’d be to them if he pushed himself too hard one final time that he couldn’t come back from.

Of course, Dean growled to himself, still spinning that mixtape in his fingers, all those awful, hurtful things he’d said to him, were _not_ the words waiting on his tongue. He’d wanted to say how terrified he was of losing him. How the thought of Cas permanently doing himself damage for _him_ was something Dean couldn’t deal with even for a second. How there were so many nights Dean had lost sleep, constantly worrying about him when he didn’t return calls, knowing Cas would so rarely ask for help—and how much that stung, Cas _not_ reaching out for him when he needed him; perhaps for Cas not needing him at all.

Dean had wanted to tell Cas how much he missed him when he wasn’t there with them. How he wanted them to just take a day together, away from everything, without any reason for it other than they wanted to. Dean had so many things he wanted to do with Cas, and for the most part, what he wanted more than anything, in whatever form it came, was _time_ with Cas. There was never enough of it; always one of them rushing off to do something, or someone else’s problem to be solved.  

But Dean, Dean had never managed to say those things out loud. He’d hoped, foolishly, that Cas would see it in the looks he gave him, that they alone would be enough to tell him, _this is not what I mean. This is not what I want to be saying. This is not how I feel._

Which is how the mixtape had happened. When they’d finished yelling at each other and Cas had stormed out, Dean had thrown himself into the Impala and driven for a few hours until he’d calmed down—until the angry voices berating him for being such a bastard had quieted enough to allow Dean to think.  

It had taken him hours. First listing and relisting all the songs that meant something to him, and would say what he was meaning to Cas. He’d succeeded in narrowing it down to thirteen, even though there were about a hundred others that had just as much meaning to him, but to fit them all on one tape would have been impossible.

Dean carefully recorded every one, making sure he paused the tape at the exact moment so he didn’t cut off any of the fading in and out between songs. He thought about writing a list of the songs out for Cas fresh, so he’d know what he was listening to if he already didn’t—though he must have heard each of them a dozen times over for every time he’d been with him and Sam in the car.  

And when he’d handed the tape over to him, Dean thought, closing his eyes to the agony of the soft smile on Cas’ face, it was one of the few memories Dean kept that brought him peace. Cas had studied the tape, turning it over much like Dean was doing just then, and his thumb stroking over the label Dean had spent a good ten minutes agonizing on the wording of.  

Dean longed to know if Cas had got the meaning of any of it. Wanted to call him up so many times just to ask if he’d listened all the way through. Felt relief, kind of, for seeing the tape when he’d plucked it from a trench coat pocket to find it had very definitely been played. Wondered which song Cas had been half way through listening to.

But one mix tape did not make up for all of his harshness, and neither did it say, in entirety, all that he needed to say. And it hurt, so much, to know Cas could never know all that he wanted to tell him, because Dean had been storing his words up for an eternity, and had finally run out of time.  

Dean raised his eyes to the ceiling, then slid the tape back into the box. Sealed it carefully with the lid then walked it over to the closet to slot back onto a shelf. Closing the door, wishing he could do that with his memories, and all he was thinking. Then berating himself for even wishing he could forget a second about Cas.

***

Dean woke the next morning feeling lighter, and it took a few moments for him to recognize the reason for it. For the first time since returning to the bunker, Dean had woken from his dreams feeling only sorrow, instead of rage-filled, desperate guilt, and the reminder that Cas was gone came as less of a horrific surprise.  

There was a second when his heart pounded in fear that he was already beginning to forget Cas, and he sat bolt upright to fight against it then sank a little with a sigh. He wouldn’t ever forget Cas; Dean knew that he wouldn’t— _couldn’t_. There would never be a way to remove him from his life.   

But Cas wouldn’t recognize the person moping for him like he was. Would be nothing but concerned to see what he’d let himself become. Dean smiled for a moment, thinking of that pleading look Cas would give him asking Dean to take better care of himself, before reaching out fingers to press to his forehead in an attempt to soothe him. Maybe even squeeze him on the shoulder in reassurance, as Dean had done to him when lost for how else to express himself countless times.

Dean took himself for a shower, thankful that he managed to avoid contact with the other occupants of the bunker, feeling unprepared for any kind of conversation. Shaved for the first time in weeks, just about making eye contact with himself in the mirror, then climbing into the car, familiarizing himself with the Impala before turning it out onto the road, determined to just drive, wherever the road would take him.  

He stopped at a cafe, one he’d been to alone with Cas one time, sitting himself down at the very same table and smiling in sad memory of the image of Cas sitting across from him, absently playing with the salt shaker as they waited for their food.  

Dean remembered watching Cas’ fingers toy with his plate of fries, absently eating his way through every one of them as they talked. He remembered their simple conversation, the way that when they were together alone like that it sometimes felt like the entire world outside them had stopped. And Dean missed him, so hard and desperately then, that he barely made eye contact with the waitress as she topped off his coffee, staring resolutely out the window and over to the stores on the opposite side of the street until he had control over his own breathing and the sting of his eyes.

It was time to let Cas go.

It wasn’t fair to keep clinging on to the memory of him like he was, not when he’d never found the courage to tell Cas how he felt. And Sam was right; he was being selfish thinking that it was only him that was grieving. Dean sucked in a long, whistled breath, and pulled his phone from his pocket, finally answering a text message from Claire.

Dean drove some more, finding himself smiling in memory at some of the places he passed, remembering seeing them with Cas. Nothing extraordinary; gas stations and diners and landmarks along their route, but cherished memories all the same. If that was all he had left of Cas then he’d take it, every last one of them; but he had to stop hoarding Cas like he was.  

By the time Dean got back to the bunker, it was almost dusk. He stared up at the endless clear sky overhead, looked far out over the horizon, then heard only the crunch of his own boots in the dirt as he made his way over to Cas’ grave.

How could something so plain contain all that Cas had been, Dean thought to himself. How could something as definite as death define Cas? How could he have left him, been taken from him, stolen before Dean had managed to get his words out? How could he still be rehashing the same old excuses after all this time?

“There’s… about a hundred things I should’ve told you,” Dean said, staring down at the grave before him and scuffing his toe in the dirt. “I know it’s kinda late now, but. I guess I gotta start somewhere.”

Dean continued to stare, still picturing Cas laid out before him with his wings turned to dust, and tried to push the image from his mind.

“Thing is,” he continued, “I think maybe you already knew some o’ the stuff I was thinking about you. I mean, I prayed at you often enough, and I can’t help but remember the way you sometimes looked at me like you were reading my mind. I’m… not sorry I thought any o’ those things about you—and you know the things I’m talking about—but I’m… sorry, that I never said any of it out loud.

“I’m… sorry I took shit out on you, or just… instead of telling you what I was thinking, said all… kinds of stuff that I—I didn’t even _mean_ , Cas. I need you to know that… you were always important to me, Cas; whatever we did, whatever we were going through. I just wish I’d… I’d found a way to make you realize that.

“I’m… not sure how I’m gonna keep going without you, Cas,” Dean added, barely registering that he was tearing up all over again. “I’m just… I always thought that I’d get a moment to just… make things right with you, you know? And I know I… I know it don’t matter what I say or do now, ‘cos it’s not gonna bring you back, or… change all the stuff I should’ve said or done back then, but… and I know I’ve only got myself I can blame for that, but, Cas, I… I miss you so much, Cas, I don’t… I don’t know what I’m gonna do…”

Tears stole Dean’s ability to speak then, curling his spine forward until his hands were pressed into his thighs for support. It took a few deep breaths and a lot of pleading with himself until he was upright again, forcing himself to concentrate on what he wanted to say as he wiped fresh tears away with the back of his hand.

“But I’m gonna… I’m gonna take a step back now, okay? Stop… losing myself in thinking of you all the time. It don’t mean, even for a second, that I’ve forgotten about you, okay? I need you to know that.  I just… I’m not helping anyone else being like this, and I… I feel like I’ve let enough people down by… by not saying what I was thinking out loud.”

“Turns out,” Dean snorted to himself, “people knew how I felt about you anyway. Don’t matter how many times I tried denying it to myself in the beginning, then only let myself admit when I was on my own. They knew, and they didn’t… I mean, I can’t blame them, at all, for… not tryna talk to me about it; we both know I’m a stubborn bastard even when I need to talk.”

“I… I don’t know what to do here, Cas, honestly I don’t. But I guess… one day at a time, right?”

Dean paused, desperately wishing for a miracle that meant Cas would answer, that he would have his own words he’d been storing up, and wanted to say back. But there was nothing but silence rushing in at him from all sides. Nodding to himself, Dean bargained for a little more courage, took another deep, shuddering breath, and forced himself to start speaking again.

“I… hope you’re happy wherever you ended up. At _peace_ ; man, that’s a lame ass thing to be saying to anyone, I know, but you deserve that. I don’t think you’ve known what peace felt like for the longest time, and I want that for you. I want a whole lot more, but thinking like that’s just gonna lead back to all the selfish things that I want and can’t have with you, so I’m gonna… I’m gonna leave it at hoping that you’re peaceful, somewhere, wherever you are.”

“I’m… gonna go now, Cas,” Dean said then, squaring his shoulders and pinching away the residue of tears in his eyes, “but don’t think I’m forgetting you. Don’t you dare think that, ‘cos I won’t; not even for a second. ‘Cos sometimes, you were the only thing that made anything bearable, and I… I wish there was some way to let you know how grateful I am for all o’ that.”

“But I… I gotta go, Cas. I got… there’s things I need to be dealing with, and I can’t do that when I’m like this, so I… but I won’t forget you. I won’t. Not ever, okay? I just… Cas, I… I gotta go…”

***

 


	3. Chapter 3

“It’s not like that.”

But it’s _exactly_ like that, Dean thought to himself, attempting to keep his expression neutral, when in his chest, nothing but hatred and fury boiled.

Jack stared back at him with that same level of curious intensity Cas had shown him in the beginning, and it left Dean feeling a little sick. He tried to look away, but in the exact way Cas used to do to him, Jack’s gaze pierced right through, fixing Dean to the very spot he’d come to an abrupt stop in, when he’d walked into the kitchen with bags full of groceries, and nearly dropped them when he almost walked straight into Jack.

“You do,” Jack insisted, though there was no change of emotion in his voice, “you do, Dean. You hate me.”

“Look,” Dean growled, shaking his head to clear it then stepping back to give himself room, and striding over to the counter, “I don’t know what—”

“I understand,” Jack added, and if that didn’t have Dean’s fingers all but rip into the bottom of those grocery bags before he could get them down, “and I understand if—”

“You’ve been alive, what; five _minutes_? You think you understand _anything_?” Dean whirled on the spot, incensed, his fingers now digging into his palms for fear of what he might do with them if he didn’t.

“That is true,” Jack acknowledged, sending Dean’s stomach plummeting to the floor when he almost— _almost_ stared straight back at him with Cas’ head tilt. Cas’ mannerisms, and earnest look, and, so help him, the bastard was even wearing similar colors to him. “Though it is also true, that if I _were_ only five minutes old, I would be helpless. Depending entirely on your care.”  

“Yeah, well,” Dean retorted, struggling for something to answer with, “lucky for us you’re _not._ ”

“Sam seems to think it is wise I stay with you.”

“Right,” and Dean didn’t bother to hide his disdain for that idea from his voice.

“Sam also says, that you just need a little time to get _used_ to the idea of me being here,” Jack added, and if that didn’t surge even more fury through Dean.

“Look,” Dean snapped, hand up and half-pointing at him, “I—”

“That it’s harder for you to accept me, than it is for him. Because of Castiel. _Cas_ ,” Jack amended, in a tone suggesting he’d been taught to shorten his name and didn’t know what to make of it, “my fa—”

“He’s not your _anything_ ,” Dean seethed, taking a step closer, and so furious with rage that it felt like he had no control over his own limbs.

Jack didn’t move. Didn’t so much as flinch, which goaded Dean even further, surprised him a moment later to feel the material of Jack’s t-shirt bunched up in his own fists. Jack’s eyes fell to them with that detached, curious stare that made Dean want to pull the world apart with his bare hands—starting with Jack.

“I understand why you are hurting,” Jack continued, his head raising slowly from looking down at Dean’s hands, then back up to his face without showing a single emotion, “I understand that I remind you of him.”

“You don’t,” Dean denied, shoving against him but finding Jack unmoving, “you don’t. You’re nothing like him, got nothing to do with him, you don’t—”

“You blame me, for his death,” Jack added, a cold, factual statement that should not have made Dean feel so sick, that meant he had to step away and press the back of his hand over his mouth, swallow repeatedly to chase away the taste of bile.

“And that is why you hate me,” Jack concluded; Dean didn’t want to listen, so turned on his heel again, beginning to slot the groceries away and think about what to leave out for the apology dinner he was planning on making for Sam.

“I don’t hate you,” Dean said, half over his shoulder as he worked, “I just… I don’t trust you. Don’t know what you’re gonna do, if we’re just… waiting for you to explode, or something.”

“I’m… fairly certain I won’t explode,” Jack replied, though it came out a little doubtful, and Dean turned just enough to see Jack looking down at himself, hand pressed to his stomach, as though trying to check if that was a possibility or not.

Dean rolled his eyes, having to look away again.

“If I _were_ Castiel—Cas’ own, biological son; do you think you would hate me less?”

Jack’s question took the strength from Dean’s knees, leaving him pressing his palms firm against the counter in an attempt to keep upright. And his mind, so used to tormenting him with things about Cas, didn’t disappoint. Images of Cas, happy, cradling a baby, playing with a toddler, and proudly watching over a child as they grew. And he couldn’t help it; when Dean envisioned another person there with him, that Cas was raising this imaginary child with, it was _himself_ he saw. And an impossible future that he didn’t even want flared bright in his imagination; weren’t they too old to be parents? Too jaded by this life? Too unstable in what they did to ever provide a child of theirs with stability? What would—

Dean forced his thoughts back into the present, into that kitchen, concentrating on the grip of the cereal box in his fingers and the cold clammy feeling of the carton of milk in his other hand.

“I don’t hate you,” Dean repeated, shaking his head, closing his eyes for a moment as though that would help him find the words. “I just… I don’t know what to do with you.”

“Sam’s been… teaching me about what it is to be human. To grieve. To… think about the kind of person that I am.”

Dean seethed quietly under his breath at the thought of Sam spending time trying to do anything with _Jack_.

“Grieving, huh?” he asked with a huff, turning to lean back against the counter and fold his arms across his chest.

“Yes.”

“For?”

“My mother,” Jack replied, solemn as anything, “my—”

“So help me,” Dean bit back in warning, cutting him off. And though Jack probably couldn’t understand exactly what he was meaning, it was enough to shut him up.  

Peace, Dean thought to himself, sucking in a hard breath, I need _peace_. I need—

“Would you… accompany me?”

Jack’s question had Dean’s eyes popping open, not having realized he’d allowed them to close.

“Where?”

“I would like to talk to—to _Cas._ ”

Dean’s heart leaped in protest, and an unconscious sob ripped its way out his mouth.

“He’s not here to talk to,” Dean snarled back at him, stepping forward once more, “he’s not _here_ ; don’t you get it? He’s gone—everything’s gone, ‘cos _you’re_ here.”

“Dean—”

“You took him from me,” Dean growled, towering over Jack with his hands twitching down by his sides, “You took everything. _Everything_. And you just—”

“That was not my intention,” Jack retorted, appearing unaffected by Dean’s anger, and it took strength Dean didn’t know he was capable of, to pull back, and not strike out, hard, like instinct told him to.

“Yeah, well, you know what they say about _intentions_ ,” Dean huffed, pacing back and forth not trusting himself to keep still for a minute.

“No,” Jack replied, and Dean could feel his eyes following his every step, “I do _not_ —and who are _they_?”

Dean’s fingers dug into his skull in frustration, yanking at his own hair.  

“Just an expression.”

“But—”

“It don’t mean anything.”

“Then—”

“Look,” Dean seethed, turning and spinning and coming to stand in front of Jack once again, “you and me; we’re not gonna—we just not gonna _communicate_ , okay? We’re not. Simple as that; I can’t _look_ at you without—”

“Without remembering Castiel,” Jack finished for him, leaving Dean nothing but livid.

“We can’t—”

“I only ask that you share your memories of him,” Jack replied, his eyes narrowing enough to show the beginnings of frustration. Dean wondered how far he’d have to push before things got out of hand.  

“I—”

“And that you allow _me_ , to share my own,” Jack added, stopping Dean in his tracks—not realizing he’d taken up pacing yet again.

“ _You_?” he seethed. “What possible _memories_ , can _you_ have, of—”

“When I was in my mother’s womb,” Jack replied, his voice not wavering, “he spoke to me—”

“He _spoke_ to you?”

“Yes,” Jack agreed, and Dean’s mind went through all the possibilities that might mean. What did he know of all angels were capable of, after all: if an angel could communicate in any language, with any living thing on the planet, why would they not be able to speak to an unborn child? The thought was unsettling, and also made Dean ache with the image of yet another person Cas had given his time to instead of _him_. Didn’t even have enough energy to remind himself how selfish he was being.

“About?”

“About… hope. Kindness. What it means to be _good_. The importance of _family_ —”

Dean felt himself slump forward at that, fighting hard to stop it showing externally.

“—that _you_ are his family. You, and Sam. _Claire_ ,” Jack added, frowning a little, “which would make her my _sister_. Do you think she would be more willing to speak to me than you? About Cas?”

Dean couldn’t hear any more. Couldn’t listen to a word of it, couldn’t be in the same room; couldn’t stand to be anywhere that involved being with _him_.

With a glare for Jack in passing that he wished he had more power behind, Dean stormed back out the bunker, threw himself down in the Impala, tires screeching in the dirt as he spun away.

***

Dean pulled up outside the bunker just a couple of hours later, shivering into the denim jacket he’d worn when shopping earlier, regretting the choice with the wind whipping up around him and the rain that started up the moment he’d hit the highway—still pounding down even then. He ran inside, grimacing to himself at the trail of boot prints he’d have to clean up later, kicking them off and tiptoeing through on socked feet in search of Sam.

Sam’s glare for him the moment he rounded on the open doorway to his bedroom had Dean stumbling to yet another stop, freezing where he stood for the look seething back at him from the bed, and no idea what he’d done, or where else he was supposed to look.

“He’s standing out there, in the rain, talking to _Cas_ ,”

The accusation in Sam’s voice didn’t take Dean by surprise, but the venom behind it did. He stared back, silently demanding an explanation, and apparently infuriating Sam for it by the way he rolled his eyes and jumped up off the bed, stalking towards him.

“He said you _talked_ ,” Sam added, coming to stand in front of him.

“Why’re you so _concerned_ ‘bout how I talk to him?” Dean retorted, not moving an inch.

“Oh, so you admit you had some kinda attitude with him, right?” Sam scoffed. “I mean, way to go, Dean. Antagonize the very person _you_ keep saying’s gonna bring on the next apocalypse. Great way to handle—”

“I’m not _handling_ anything—”

“I know you aren’t,” Sam agreed, bitterness dripping from his words, “and I’d feel sorrier for you about that if you weren’t—”

“Hey—”

“You think _Cas_ ’d want you acting like this?” Sam demanded, fury making his voice rise. “You think—you think he’d ever forgive either of us for treating _Claire_ like that?”

“Claire’s different,” Dean denied, shaking his head, and grimacing a little at the look Cas might give him for ignoring Claire as long as he had.

“She is and she isn’t,” Sam spat back at him, “that whole _family don’t end in blood_ thing mean nothing to you all of a sudden? Huh? You think Bobby’d—”

“Bobby’d be just as cautious,” Dean said, cutting him off with a wave of his arm, and huffing as Sam pushed past him, beginning to walk away.

“He wouldn’t—”

“He _would_ , Sam,” Dean insisted, “he’d—”

“He’d see a _kid_ ,” Sam hissed, snarling as he spun back on his heel practically in Dean’s face, “he’d see a _kid_ , Dean—of _our_ best friend. Of _your_ —”

“He’s not _Cas’_ ,” Dean retorted, just as incensed as he had been before he’d left, “he’s _Lucifer’s_. _Lucifer’s_ , Sammy; you got any idea—”

“He’s a _kid_ , Dean,” Sam said, anger and agony seeming to lace through his words, “how’d… how’s he supposed to learn any better than whatever _you’ve_ already decided he’s gonna be? How’s he—if the first people he spends time with are nothing but hateful, and hostile to him, how’d—what’s he gonna think the rest of the world’s like, huh?”

Sam’s reasoning might have been sound, but Dean couldn’t shift the anger from his gut, or the resentment that seeped through him more and more for every day Cas had been _gone_.   

“He’s—”

“Cas wanted to take care of him,” Sam said then, his tone flat, as though he knew it was a pointless argument. “Cas spent time with Kelly, protecting her—protecting _him_ , because he had _hope_ , Dean. That Jack would… that things would turn out better than any of us hoped.”

“Yeah, well, he got that _wrong_ , didn’t he?” Dean yelled back, hating to even be thinking anything negative about Cas.

“Not all of us ‘ve given up,”

“Yeah, well, not all of us ‘ve given all they got, and it still turned out not to be enough,” Dean spat back at him, daring him to have a clever answer. “Not all of us have lost everything— _everything_ —”  

“If you’re insinuating, for a second, that I _haven’t_ lost as much as you?” Sam replied, his voice that quiet, calm tone that Dean recognized as the one he used seconds before his temper really blew. “If you think you losing _Cas_ —”

“Don’t—”

“Is any different to me losing _Jess_. _Amelia_. _Eileen_ —”

“Sammy—”

But Sam was then waving his hand in dismissal, walking away without looking back.

“ _Sammy_ —”

“He won’t come in for me,”

Sam came to a stop far enough away from Dean to have to raise his voice, still with his back to him and slumping forward as though a weight pressed down on his shoulders.

“What—”

“I went out there, tried to talk him into coming in. But he won’t; been standing there by Cas’ grave—” Dean screwed his eyes and fists up at the word, his stomach lurching, and pleaded with himself not to make a sound. “—won’t even answer me,” Sam continued. “So, if he gets sick from standing in the rain for hours on end—’cos of _you_ —”

“I didn’t tell him to go stand in the damn rain, Sam—”

“—then you’re the one dealing with it. ‘Cos I’m done. Out of here. Tomorrow. I’m not—I’m not sticking about for this, Dean. Our Mom’s out there, and we got… we got so few people _left_ , and I—”

“Just gonna take off?”

Sam sighed hard enough for the noise to carry, but didn’t add anything else.

“Fine. I’ll go talk to him,” Dean groaned, not waiting for Sam to respond as he made his way to his own room to change into a better jacket.

The ground was already thick and slippery when Dean headed outside. He shrugged harder into his jacket, pulling the hood down as far as it would go over his face, and groaned yet again for the sight of Jack stood there with his back to him, showing no acknowledgement of the rain pelting down.

“Jack, c’mon, you’ll get sick,” Dean called, not wanting to get any closer, not wanting to have to stand there beside the reason for Cas being in that ground before them. His conversations he’d had with Cas there were private; not to be shared with someone who lacked all emotion. Jack didn’t even acknowledge his approach; Dean groaned to himself a further time, and forced his way through trying again.

“Jack—”

“Why did you bring him here, and not burn him with my mother?”

Dean winced at the word _burn_ , thinking of the funeral pyre for Kelly, and how they’d been intending to put Cas on it. How he’d wrapped Cas’ body in curtains torn down from the windows of that house, bound him as carefully and gently as he could, then carried him out, only to collapse to the floor under the weight of him—that, and of his own grief, not able to stumble a step further.  

Thinking back, Dean sighed, if he hadn’t been so numb with grief, he might have noticed the way Sam had left him to do that; scoop Cas up from the dirt he’d fallen on and carry him through to the house to lay out on that table, arrange as peacefully as Dean could make him, having to stop several times for that grief getting its grip on him, before he could straighten his spine, and carry on.   

Sam’s lack of action there was not a sign of not caring, or having more important things to do, Dean thought, a small weight lifting from his gut for a burden he’d not consciously known he’d been holding on to. It was out of respect; Sam knew, and understood what Cas meant to Dean. It wasn’t a new revelation discovered when Dean’s grief took over in the past few weeks—and Dean already _knew_ that from Sam’s words for him—but his mind hadn’t quite caught up to that fact.

Sam had left him to deal with Cas’ body, as though he was a grieving partner, or spouse, without making a single comment on it, yet still standing steady beside Dean when he’d broken down for a split second saying he couldn’t face putting Cas on that pyre—wanted to bury him at the bunker, at least. Give him some semblance of _normal_ , even if it was only in death.

“I wanted him here,” Dean finally answered, not holding back on the honesty of it. “I… needed him close.”

“Your relationship with him is… _different_. Than it is with Sam.”

Dean closed his eyes, listening to the rain hitting his jacket, the ground, and Jack, and nodded.

“Yeah,” he agreed, shifting a little, “yeah. It was.”

“Which is why you resent me being here. Why it is harder for you to see me, than it is for Sam,” Jack continued, still not moving a muscle, and looking to be soaked to the bone.

Did Nephilim even get colds? Dean thought to himself, wondering if he should have brought a second jacket out for _Jack_ , and what he would have to say to get him back inside.  

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, stumbling forward a touch so he was standing closer to Jack, turning to look at him; his face was calm, though his brow furrowed as he stared down at the grave, but there was no indication to say he could feel the wetness that had to be seeping into his skin. Then let his own eyes drop to stare at the ground, tried to ignore the instant ache it surged through his gut.

“I wondered.”

Dean turned to Jack again when he didn’t elaborate, realizing staring at him would do nothing at all to make him talk. Just like it never had with _Cas_.

“About?” Dean barked out a little sharper than intended for the urgency he felt to distract himself from his spiraling thoughts.

“The reason. For you taking him here,” Jack said, nodding towards the grave again, finally turning to look at him expectantly.

“I just said—”

“Then I assumed,” Jack continued, looking truly puzzled, “that because of your… _relationship_ , perhaps you had already talked about this. I… don’t pretend to fully understand human relationships yet, of course.”

“...What?”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Jack said, with a smile Dean thought was supposed to be _comforting_ , “Sam explained it to me.”

“Sam explained _what_?” Dean demanded, his heart beginning to flutter even without him knowing the reason why.

“That you are repressed,” Jack replied, calm and nonjudgmental as anything, as though simply stating a fact, “that you were… yet to express your… _love_ for him—for Castiel. Cas.”

“I—”

“So it would be unlikely—at least, _less_ likely,” Jack amended to himself, pausing and shuffling as though carefully choosing his words, “for Castiel to have shared this possibility with you. Though I do not truly know the full depth of your relationship; it is… _confusing_ , trying to understand you.”

Jack’s eyes felt like they were boring their way through Dean’s chest, as though he was seeking that answer out for himself.   

“He did care for you. Very much. More than he thought you realized,” Jack added, “and much, much more than he thought he was allowed.”

“He—”

“So I imagine that there must be _much_ he would share with you, whether you were in a traditional relationship or not,” Jack concluded, nodding to himself, “including this. Which is why I wondered, if you knew. Why you brought him here.”

Dean was lost, and had no idea what Jack wanted him to say, so just shook his head, no longer aware of the rain, or anything else around him.

“But then,” Jack said, staring at him a little harder, “you were so adamant… _repulsed_ by the idea that I would see Castiel as my father. And you would… refuse to talk about him. I know that Sam tried, and I overheard his conversations with other people expressing… concern, that you would not talk. So I then wondered if perhaps… you _hadn’t_ loved him after all. That you did _not_ want him here. It has been… confusing.”

Dean stared at Jack, feeling that he had reached some kind of conclusion, but was himself even more in the dark. He replayed Jack’s words, tried to find some sense between them, and found nothing to cling on to.  

“What… what the hell are you talking about?”

“We should… go back inside,” Jack said then, shaking his head as though he had been dazed, turning his eyes skywards and wincing like he’d only just noticed it was raining, then nodding for Dean to move. “Come. I am unlikely to be affected by inclement weather, but you; you are human, Dean.”

Dean watched Jack pace away from him without looking back, tried again to replay the things Jack had been telling him, then slapped his hands down hard against his rain-soaked jeans in frustration, and followed him back inside.

***

Dean trailed behind Jack, watching as he made his way down the hallway to his room—as far away as possible from him and Sam, Dean added to himself, pleased Sam had thought to put him there out the way, and also feeling a little unexpected stab of guilt that had him stomping into his own room to try to escape it.

Grimacing as he shrugged his way out of his jacket, boots, and wet jeans, then deciding to change entirely, Dean threw on a pair of sweatpants and a fresh t-shirt, and was halfway through bending down to pull on socks when he wondered what Jack would wear when he changed.

Did Jack even _have_ changes of clothes, Dean thought to himself, straightening up with a start. Or was he just as tied to the same few pieces of clothing as Cas had been?

The thought of Cas, of course, had him slumping forward, head in his hands, staring at the floor.

Cas wouldn’t have wanted things to be like they were, Dean knew that, didn’t need Sam to be reminding him of one of the many things that taunted him constantly. Cas would be disappointed at best, angry at worst with him for how he was behaving towards Jack, and besides any of that, Dean was beginning to feel disappointed in himself.  

It had crept up on him; starting to leave a bad taste in his mouth for every withering look he’d given Jack on the rare occasions they were together in the same room. The way he all but shoulder-barged his way past him when storming out a couple of times. Ignored his polite questions, planned all kinds of ways to try to get rid of him, and purposely made it impossible for Jack to feel at home: yelling at him for picking up a book in the library that Dean had come to think of as Cas’; snatching a mug from his fingers for the very same reason; leaving rooms the moment he entered—the list was, as he thought more about it, endless.  

Dean couldn’t help compare some of those things with how he’d treated Cas.

The way they’d— _he’d_ treated Cas in the past was unintentionally cruel at times: all but telling him he was of no use to them without his powers; snapping at him constantly for not getting things right first time; being angry and yelling when all he wanted to do was reach for him, talk to him, voice all those things he was frightened to say out loud. Constantly blowing hot and cold with him, so there was no way for Cas to know where he stood.

Constantly calling him his _brother_ , when that wasn’t how he felt about him at all, Dean added with a further curse to himself, because it was easier than risking saying anything else. And now he was ignoring the one thing that Cas had been so sure was important in this world, pouring all his hatred for all he’d lost into loathing Jack.

Jack, Dean sighed, gripping his hair a little tighter with his fingers digging into his scalp, who was essentially nothing but a child. Who only had him and Sam for guidance; what if his hatred for him was the thing that sent Jack off into a spiral of hatred against other people or the world in general, Dean asked himself, feeling sick for all the potential consequences of that.

Steeling himself, swallowing back the bile rising up in his throat, he stood, stamping out the room and along the hallway, swinging Jack’s door open without a thought for his privacy—though, in his two seconds of defense to himself, Dean added that the door was open anyway.

Jack sat, on the very corner of his bed, still in his soaked clothes, and apparently watching the splatter of raindrops from his own hair as they hit the floor.

“Jack?” Dean called uncertainly, just a few steps inside the doorway, and half-expecting, as Jack lifted his head, to see yellow eyes glaring back at him, ready to strike.

Jack observed him with an unreadable expression, rain-plastered hair stuck to his forehead.

“Dude, whatever angel blood’s running through you? You’re still part human,”

“Yes,” Jack agreed, “my mother—”

“Which means,” Dean added, cutting him off, raising an eyebrow daring him to keep talking, “you’re just as likely to get a cold as the rest of us. Probably.”

“I don’t think I can get sick,” Jack replied, curious and shaking his head as though this was something he was very seriously considering. Sending those raindrops scattering everywhere.

“Humor me, okay?” and Dean regretted the words the second they left his mouth for the added confusion it put on Jack’s face. “I mean… get changed. Dry off. Do… something.”

“...Why?”

“Because wet clothes mean sick. Sick means… I don’t know what sick looks like on you. And to be honest? I really don’t wanna find out.”

“I don’t… have anything to change in to,” Jack said after staring back at him for a long few seconds, “my other change of clothes is… in the laundry.”

Dean did not find that amusing, the way he said _laundry_ as though it was something exotic; not at all—certainly not a reminder of _Cas_. But then that amusement he was adamantly _not_ feeling was replaced with a wash of guilt, and a need to _do_ something for Jack. Telling himself the entire time he was doing it for _Cas_.

“C’mon.”

Jack continued to stare at Dean, perhaps needing further instructions, perhaps trying to interpret his words—or his reason for saying them, when up until then he’d had nothing to say to him at all.  

“Up. Now,” Dean added, gesturing with his fingers for him to stand, “I’ll… lend you something.”

In the seconds it took Jack to stand, Dean’s eyes darted around the room. Empty, emptier than even the room Cas sometimes used had been. Cold, barren, not a spot of color to brighten it, or even a suggestion of a personal touch. He didn’t even have a picture of Kelly, Dean added to himself with a hard swallow, thinking of his own mom.

“Where are we going?”

“Just… c’mon,” Dean repeated, waving him forward, feeling Jack staring at him as they walked side by side along the hallway to his own room. He paused for a moment, wondering if he should tell Jack to wait outside, thought about making the excuse of not wanting to have him dripping everywhere, then squaring his shoulders and waved him in.

“Wait there.”

And Jack did exactly as told; standing just inside the doorway, his eyes turning curiously around the room, drifting over all Dean’s personal possessions in obvious interest as Dean went through his closet, trying to find something for Jack to wear. With a small pile of sweatpants, t-shirt, and socks, Dean cleared his throat asking Jack to follow, and they padded together through the bunker towards the showers.

“Get in there,” he said, pointing towards one of the showers as he put the pile of clothes down on a side, pausing for only a second before handing over his own soap and shampoo, and finding one of their better towels. “Get it good ‘n hot; you’re soaked. Bring all this wet stuff with you when you’re done, and get changed into these. We’ll do _laundry._ ”

“Will I not be _more_ soaked if I—”

“Just do it,” Dean snapped, pointing more insistently then turning on his heel, not waiting to check whether he’d listen to him or not. Then pausing to call over his shoulder. “Come… find me when you’re done.”

***

Dean stomped back through the bunker, snatching up his own wet clothes and slinging them into a waiting machine, sorting through the hamper and snorting at the size difference between Jack and Sam’s shirts, then grimacing at how little Jack had, and bracing for the thought of taking him clothes shopping.

Leaving the door of the machine open ready to toss Jack’s things in, Dean made his way back to the library, absently straightening books on shelves, stacking neater piles of paper on a desk, glaring at one of the overhead lights that was flickering, and after staring to see if it would right itself, changing the bulb.

He tried to keep his thoughts on the task in hand; the twist of the too hot glass between his fingers, the cool air rushing at the hem of his raised t-shirt, the coolness of the bunker floor against his socked feet, but it proved impossible. Cas joined him, in every action, and Dean first sneered at himself for being lovesick—hearing his dad’s voice in the taunts—and then curled his fists up in fury at himself. Of course Cas joined him in everything; he’d been so adamant that he hide his feelings from Cas when he had the chance to tell him, that the constant denial meant he was present in every one of his thoughts now that chance was gone.   

Dean’s thoughts of Cas had become convoluted, with actual memories being replayed next to things he had only dreamed about doing with him. Everything from shared burgers at a diner, to fantasies he’d had about Cas on that very table; Dean closed his eyes, immediately blinking them open again, for Cas was waiting for him there as well.

“I miss you, Cas,” he said out loud, as he’d found himself doing from time to time. Splaying his hand wide against the table and staring down at his fingers, telling himself there were more important things to be focusing on in the world, than what it might be like to feel Cas’ fingers threaded through his own. Then scolding himself for it.

Jack found Dean in the library a little later, standing awkwardly at the end of the table with a carefully folded pile of wet clothes held out in front of him as though they might erupt. Dean grimaced internally, not wanting to see how their height difference made his clothes hang off Jack’s frame, or the slightly bewildered, forlorn look on his face that he also did not want to have to look at.

“Sit. Wait here,” he demanded, pointing at a chair even as he took the bundle of wet clothing from his arms with a wince, stomping through the bunker yet again as though that would do anything to help the situation, then adding Jack’s clothes to the waiting load.

Jack hadn’t moved a muscle when he returned, sitting in that chair he’d pointed at on leaving, with his elbows resting on the table, appearing to be studying his hands. Dean scowled, biting back all kinds of angry words meant for Jack, but not knowing what to do with any of them, and for the first time since arriving back at the bunker all those weeks ago, managed to get himself to rein them in.

“You hungry?”

“I don’t think so,”

“Yeah, well… you gotta eat. Need something warm after… what were you doing out there, anyway?” Dean asked, half turned towards the kitchen already, both wanting to know, and not wanting to, fearing he’d hate the answer.

“Talking to Castiel,” Jack replied calmly, just as Dean expected him to.

“Not a lot he can say to you now,” Dean retorted, trying not to wince when hearing his own words come out harsh.

Jack raised his head from staring at his hands to observe him curiously, just long enough for Dean to get too uncomfortable, and need to find something to do.

“You gotta eat,” he repeated, hovering for a second, then waving for Jack to follow.

In the kitchen, he reheated leftovers from dinner the day before, made two cups of coffee, and after debating with himself, poured a healthy slug of whiskey into both, gesturing for Jack to follow him back out.

“It’s medicinal,” he justified, mostly to himself, as he gestured for Jack to drink, then watched as he methodically made his way through the food.  

It wasn’t something he liked, Dean thought, he could tell that by the way he was eating. He’d observed, even when trying not to, the way Jack enthusiastically ate when he did enjoy the food. Usually something sweet, Dean amended to himself, wondering if he should have just gone straight for the cheesecake he’d bought earlier, see Jack work his way through that.

Of course, because he had to, Dean remembered Cas; those burgers he gorged himself on _in the low hundreds_ , the way he drank beer and coffee like he actually enjoyed them, when he was likely only doing it to keep him company. The plates of fries he’d sat and watched Cas pluck at, and the bites of his own food he’d offered on numerous occasions, monitoring Cas’ expression as he chewed, and bracing for a discussion about _molecules_.  

Dean remembered bar corners, and diner tables, moments he’d snatched alone with Cas whenever he got the chance. Talks they’d had late into the evening when Sam had left them alone—probably deliberately, Dean realized then, with a huff—or occasions when Dean couldn’t sleep, and Cas always seemed to be there for him, whatever time he called, messaged, or sent out a thought.

And Cas wasn’t _there_ anymore, Dean sighed, trying not to give any outward expression of how much he was still grieving, concentrate instead on Jack sat across from him on the table, still steadily working his way through his meal.

“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it.”

“It’s not that,” Jack denied, still with his mouth half full, “I had eaten just before going to see Cas. I am already full.”

Dean already had a million ways that he found to hate Jack, but the way he kept referring to Cas as though he was still there with them, as though he was no further away than perhaps another room; that was the one that threatened to be the knife in Dean’s gut.  

“Then stop,” Dean snapped, fingers itching to reach out and pull the plate away, instead curling them into his thighs beneath the table, and continuing to watch, this time as Jack’s fingers curled around his coffee, raising it to take several hesitant sips, then pressing his lips together as though monitoring the taste.

“This is… stronger alcohol,” Jack observed, curiously peering in his mug before lifting his eyes once again to look at Dean.  

“Stronger alcohol than what?”

“The… beer we’ve been drinking,” Jack replied, his focus already taken by another sip of his drink, leaving Dean grumbling under his breath at all the _care_ Sam was adamant Jack needed—yet still having found time to introduce Jack to _beer_.

Dean kept watching him, trying to figure out what to say to Jack, what he wanted to ask Jack, what he planned on doing now that he’d begun a conversation with him. Screwed his fists up tight, and went with the first thing that came into his thoughts.

“When you were… when _Kelly_ was… when you were—”

“When I was in my mother’s womb,” Jack finished for him, slowly setting the mug down on the table and staring back at him, as though wanting to give Dean his full attention.

“Right,” Dean nodded, “then. That.”

“What do you want to know?”

Dean considered the question, tried to figure out for himself what he wanted to ask, and realized he didn’t have a clue.

“You said you talked to Cas.”

Okay, Dean amended to himself, he _did_ have a clue, he just didn’t have anything more specific than wanting to know _everything_ about Cas in his absence. Every thought, every moment, every expression; things he _could_ have known, if he’d only not been afraid of what wanting to know all those things would mean.

“Often,” Jack agreed, “more, towards the end.”

Dean grimaced at that, sure he hadn’t paid more than passing, disdainful interest to Kelly, having no idea what he was supposed to do with her. Wondering how often Jack thought of her, having never got the chance to see her for himself.

“About what?”

“I told you,” Jack replied, “many things. Hope. Family. Kindness. That I would need to learn to fit in quickly. Adapt. Accept that… there would be those who would have… difficulty, accepting what I am, and not… loathing me for it.”

Dean kept the eye contact, unable to not ache at the thought that Cas might have already warned Jack about what behavior to expect from _him_. Was he that predictable? That stubborn and unwilling to accept anything that went against what he already knew?  

But that wasn’t what he really wanted to know, Dean thought, wanting to have more, specific questions that might let him hear what he wanted to. And coming up empty.

“He told me,” Jack continued, eyes narrowing a fraction, “that there would be those… who appeared to be my friends, who were not. And those who, at first at least, would want little to do with me. But would ultimately become the people I could depend on, and trust. That I would have to learn to tell the difference.”

Dean missed Cas violently then, wanting to apologize for all the misguided faith he’d put in him, when he’d gone out of his way to be so unpleasant to Jack. As well as all the other things he already missed so deeply about him, including all the possibilities they’d missed out on, because of never taking a chance. The weight of missing him, regretting all he missed out on having with him, a constant, growing press on his gut, folding his shoulders over, and making every task feel overwhelmingly hard.

“What do you know about Cas?”

Dean hadn’t meant his words to come out quite so abruptly, but couldn’t contain the growl in his voice once the words were out his mouth. Jack stared back at him, apparently unaffected, but taking a moment perhaps to consider what to say.

“That he was determined to do _right_. That family, and those he cared about, were the most important people in the world to him. That there is a need for patience, and kindness, and to persist, even when things are difficult. And that… it is important to keep going, to keep _fighting_ , even when it feels as though everything is hopeless. Even when the easiest thing to do, is give up,”

Dean thought of all the _wins_ Cas had been desperately trying to get for the last few times he saw him. His harsh words, misguided unkindness to hide what he was too frightened to reveal to Cas for fear of the fallout of it. Then wondered if yet another round of _sorries_ by his graveside would do anything to ease the never ending regret pressing in on him at all times.  

“Cas had… stronger emotions, when he spoke about you,” Jack added then, uninvited, leaving Dean want to push back his chair and walk away.

“I don’t—”

“He cared, deeply for you. There was a sense of… longing, that I do not… I can’t—”

“Okay,” Dean said, cutting him off with a slashing of his hand through the air, hoping his tone was enough to deter him from keeping going.

“There are things he wanted you to do together, that… seemed anatomically uncomfortable,” Jack added then, and Dean’s stomach dropped so hard on him, that he felt himself slumping forward, having to brace against the edge of the table.

“I—”

“Of course, he didn’t mean to reveal them to me,” Jack amended, eyes narrowing a touch more, then sighing as though whatever he was thinking was difficult, “and I did not mean to go looking for them either. But once Cas began thinking of you, his thoughts became so open, as though he couldn’t help it. At least, much more difficult to hide. I am sure there is much, much more he thought about you, that I did _not_ get to see.”

Dean didn’t know if that was supposed to be a comfort. Didn’t have a clue what to do with anything Jack had told him. The urge to run, far away, the only thing he thought he could understand.

“I have a question,” Jack said then, shifting a little in his seat and staring back at Dean so hard he couldn’t snatch his eyes away.

“What?”

“You loved him.”

“That your question?” Dean snapped, adamant he would not be answering that for _Jack_. Not again.

“A statement,” Jack replied, with a slight shake of his head, “and it appeared, from everything he showed me—intentionally or not—that he loved, and cared for you too.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean growled out, shifting uncomfortably, but still unable to look elsewhere, “you do that for the people who’re important to you.”

“You were more than just _important_ to him,” Jack told him, curtness seeping into his voice, “but that is something you already knew.”

 _I didn’t_ , Dean wanted to retort, to fold his arms tight across his chest and deny knowing anything about how Cas felt for him. But then he’d have to ignore all the looks between them, the softness of Cas’ expression whenever they were alone, the grip of his hugs when he thought he’d lost Dean, and so many other things besides.

“Yeah,” Dean snapped back, because there wasn’t anything else he could say. No point in denying it, when it was a truth he clung on to, a comfort when missing Cas so much became overwhelming, and he had to hold on to the memory that Cas _had_ returned at least some of what he felt.

“So then,” Jack said, frowning harder, his hands splayed against the table and his eyes back to watching them, “I have to ask.”

“Ask what?” Dean asked, torn between following Jack’s gaze, and staring at him hard enough to make him look back up.

“Why,” Jack replied, slowly raising his head to look at him, and staring at him with such intensity, that Dean had to hold his breath.

“Why _what_?”

“Why,” Jack repeated, his eyes narrowing, “why it is, that you don’t want Cas to come back.”

“Excuse me?”

Fury, like Dean thought he wasn’t capable of, rose up in a spiral from his gut, pressing him back hard into his chair in a violent shove.

“Why,” Jack repeated, the tiniest of frowns making Dean want to strike him hard from across the table, “if you _loved_ him. If you are _grieving_ for him. Why would you not want him back?”

Dean didn’t trust himself. The roar in his ears called for Jack’s blood, so incensed by his accusation, that all Dean could envisage was reaching out to snap Jack’s neck. With his fists clenched tight by his sides, Dean pushed back from the table as slow as he could make himself, and stormed out the library, unable to stand even one more second there with Jack.

***

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

He wanted to drink. He wanted to drive, be irresponsible, pound his fists into faces and break bones until that rage surging through him quietened. He wanted to _feel_ something; in fact, he didn’t want to feel anything at all. Either overwhelming physical agony or utter numbness, and nothing in between.  

Dean paced his room, feeling every bit a caged animal, thought of the Impala and how much damage he could cause behind the wheel, and barely contained the anguished yell that threatened to rip its way out of his throat. The air was stifling; Dean found himself taking shorter and sharper breathes just to force it into his lungs, but it wasn’t working. Frantic, teetering on the edge between losing himself to either fury or grief, Dean tore out the room, stamping his way through the bunker ignoring Jack watching him as he went, and Sam calling after him.

And Dean began to walk.  

He couldn’t focus on anything, registering only the squelch of his boots in the muddy dirt beneath him, and the horizon that seemed helplessly never-ending. Kept pressing forward, fast enough for his chest to be heaving yet just stopping short of breaking into a run.  

Cas was with him, of course. Effortlessly accompanying Dean wherever he went, even when he wanted to outpace him, even though Dean knew trying would only make him miss him more. Their endless fights, the pointlessness of their sharpest words, all the unspoken need between them; every cherished moment, and every last, loaded look.

As the sun began to creep across the landscape signaling dawn, Dean thought he might understand his dad like he had never done in his life. To lose the person that he loved, have them snatched from his grasp right in front of his very eyes and be able to do nothing about it, stung, like pain so overwhelming, Dean had moments of thinking that he was back on one of those racks. Being tortured with agonies not of the flesh, but solely in his mind, which was _worse_ ; pain he could channel, focus his thoughts elsewhere whatever happened to him, a skill he had honed to perfection over time. But in his head, trapped in there with only himself for company, was an inescapable agony that lingered even after the initial torture was gone.

Hot, angry tears began to pour down his cheeks, with gasping breaths adding to the blurring of his vision, and when he stumbled forward, tripping over his own feet, Dean barely managed to brace himself from hitting the ground, falling to his knees with gravel biting into his outstretched palms.

This had to stop.

Dean hauled himself back onto his haunches, then tumbled back hard on his ass, the sting in his hands leaving him plucking out that gravel before pulling the heels of them up to his eyes, pleading with himself to just _stop_.

Dean sat and watched the sun begin to set. Thought of how many times he’d done the same, while taking so much for granted. Of how he’d always thought there’d be a tomorrow when he could undo the wrongs of his day, or at least make a fumble at doing things right.  

Everything seemed so pointless now. That uncontrollable anger from earlier morphed into unstoppable sorrow, and Dean felt himself slipping into utter despair—or rather, acknowledged that was where he already was.  

“Cas,” he called out, but it only forced a fresh sob from his throat. Dean dropped his elbows down on his thighs and let his head topple forward, and cried out tears that he thought were long dried.

When there was nothing but a dry hack coming from him, Dean dragged himself to his feet, aching so much he could easily collapse right there, probably able to fall immediately asleep. But on autopilot, he made his way back to the bunker, his feet echoing out along the hallways as he dragged himself along once back inside, made for the kitchen and drank his fill of water, then stood, clutching at the edge of the sink, staring at nothing.

Dean thought he heard his name called. Heard uncertainty, and confusion in a detached voice, then a body turning on a heel and their footsteps echoing away again, presuming belatedly they belonged to Jack. A heavier footfall echoed back to him moments later with that softer one trailing behind, and Sam’s voice calling out to him in gentle concern was the thing bringing Dean back to the room.

“Hey,” Sam called again, softer than Dean thought he’d heard from Sam in weeks. He registered the light grip on his arm, and dropped his gaze to stare at Sam’s hand. “Hey. You hear me?”

Dean followed Sam’s voice, raising his eyes up the length of his arm and settling on his face, watching Sam flinch as though he didn’t like what he was seeing, and blinking slowly, a sting of grittiness in the corners that he didn’t think would ever stop.

“Dean?”

“We’re leaving. Tomorrow. In the morning.”

“Uh—”

“You wanted us to go looking for Mom, right?” Dean said, hearing his words come out monotone, not trying to inject any life into them because anything he felt was taken in his grief for Cas.

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Tomorrow,” Dean repeated, slowly pulling his arm back until it was out of Sam’s grip. “Set off early. Gonna get some sleep.”

Dean heard Sam call after him yet again but was already making his way to his room. Stopping only long enough to kick off his boots, before collapsing face down on the bed.

***

Every time he looked in the rearview, it was not Jack staring back at him questioningly, but Cas. That same, doleful expression Cas had for him whenever they’d had a falling out and Dean was being too stubborn to answer him back. He knew he was seeing similarities in Jack that weren’t there, but those eyes bore into the back of his head even as he tried to concentrate on driving, and Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter with the effort it was taking not to steer them off the road.

Sam kept trying to talk to him. Dean could tell when the next attempt was due, by the slight shift he saw out the corner of his eye, the way he angled his neck, and that noise in the back of his throat that Dean didn’t bother trying to identify.

“We’ve been driving for hours.”

Dean would, on another occasion, mentally high five himself for being so able to predict Sam so accurately. But right then, it was barely an annoyance, just another thing he had to deal with that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Did you sleep?”

“Probably,” Dean retorted, because he probably did. He remembered his eyes closing, drifting into a beautiful dream where Cas was with him. But since he often found himself daydreaming about such things, he couldn’t really tell if he’d been asleep for it or not.  

“We should eat something.”

“Thought you had breakfast.”

“I did,” Sam nodded, “but you didn’t.”

“Coffee.”

“Coffee doesn’t count.”

Enough _words_ , Dean thought to himself, staring out through the windshield knowing Sam would take the hint, and he’d get about another half hour’s peace before he tried to speak to him again.

Silence returned to the Impala, along with those eyes staring at him, and Dean fixed his attention on the road. Though he counted the minutes, rolling his eyes to himself as almost exactly thirty minutes later, Sam began to shift beside him.

“Maybe we could all do with a break, Dean.”

“Hey, you’re the one that wanted us to do this.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “but I’m also—”

“What’s the plan, anyway?” Dean asked, cutting him off, already knowing Sam didn’t really have anything. They were clutching at straws, and Sam had some misguided idea that if he didn’t look for any hunts like they would normally be doing, he could keep an eye on _him_ , make sure he was around if he was needed. This probably pointless search for their mom was a compromise, because Sam was going stir crazy whilst dealing with his own grief, and Dean wasn’t returning the offer of support for that since he was so caught up in his own.   

“I thought. Maybe we could see if we can find that rift. See if there’s—”

“I doubt I will be able to open it again.”

Dean refused to let his eyes turn to Jack in the mirror, gripping the steering wheel knuckle white.

“I know,” Sam agreed, quickly, and Dean had to wonder if they’d already discussed it, “it’s just… we’ve got to start _somewhere_ —”

“So, what,” Dean huffed, “we’re just gonna show up? Poke around? See if anything jumps out at us and says ‘hey! Here’s the way to Narnia, grab yourselves a coat’?”

Without saying a word, Sam’s disapproval announced itself loud and clear to Dean, and Dean hadn’t even intended to rile him up, though was still half-pleased to get any kind of reaction from Sam for _goading_ him.

 _He’s not_ _goading_ , Dean berated himself, but didn’t add anything else, waiting for Sam’s words to fail him yet again, and began to count another half hour out.

“I want us to stop.”

Dean clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to put his foot down harder on the pedal, holding back on the anger he wanted to blurt out, and containing it in one hard sigh.

“You hungry, or something?”

“No. Yeah. I just wanna stop, okay? Want _you_ to stop.”

“I’m fine—”

“Yeah, well I’m not.”

Sam’s voice raised in frustrated anger, leaving Dean sighing again, but beginning to look out for somewhere to stop.

“Service station. Five miles out.”

“Good,” Sam bit back at him, and Dean turned a fraction to see the expression on his face, wondering how many more minutes it would take for Sam to erupt.

They’d barely pulled in to park a few minutes later, when Sam was cranking the car door open and jumping out, leaving Dean very aware of the passenger behind him, and wondering how he too could walk away.

“I am hungry.”

Dean told himself he did not flinch on hearing Jack’s voice. But, unable to think of anyone going hungry with the constant reminder of how many times he’d done it himself as a kid so Sam could eat, was already looking at the small diner attached to the service station.

“Then let’s eat,” he called over his shoulder, unable to look at him properly, and already loathing the thought of being stuck across a table from him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to avoid Jack’s curious eye.

“Okay.”

Dean ducked out the car without saying another word, flinching again at Jack carefully shutting the door behind him, and wondering if Sam had instructed him on how to behave in the Impala so as not to piss him off. Felt him fall in to his side but also a careful distance a tiny bit back from him, leaving Dean uncomfortable in his own skin, not knowing whether to speed up or slow down.

In the diner, Jack trailed behind him as they made their way to a table, gave the menu the barest of glances over before mumbling out what he wanted to eat. Their order was taken, and coffee pushed in front of them both before they were left alone, the moment Dean had been dreading more than anything else.

“You need to understand,” he started to say, not really sure what he wanted to tell him, “that it’s… I’m not good at the whole… hearts and flowers thing.”

Jack’s lack of expression change was better than an out and out request for an explanation, but Dean grimaced anyway, trying to find a way to get out his words.

“That I… if there’s anything I gotta say about… any o’ this. The one person I should be saying any of it to, is the one person that’s not here to hear it.”

Jack continued to stare, which did absolutely nothing to help. For something to do, Dean took a gulp of his tepid, flavorless coffee, and slammed the cup down hard enough on the table for the coffee to jump out and hit his hand.

Jack reached out, swirling an absent finger in the splash on the table, but continued to not talk.

“It’s not that I don’t want him back,” Dean added, when several painful minutes had passed, and was interrupted as the waitress came back with cutlery and condiments to slide on to the table. “It’s that… there’s no way to _get_ him back. It’s… there’s no deals I can make, no favors I can ask. He’s just _gone._ ”

Jack frowned a little, finger pausing in the dot of coffee on the table, waiting for him to carry on.

“And I… I _miss_ him,” Dean added, his voice breaking despite how much he pleaded with it not to, “I miss him so much that it’s like… it’s like he didn’t go anywhere. ‘Cos he’s stuck in here. And I can’t get him out.”

Dean jabbed repeatedly at his temple, screaming at himself internally for saying any of what he was thinking out loud.  

“So it’s not that I don’t want him _back_ ,” he continued, pressing a thumb and finger into his eyes and demanding with himself that he would not start crying, “it’s that I… I’m having a real hard time letting him go.”

“But if you wanted him to come back, you wouldn’t have to let him go,” Jack pointed out, as though his reasoning was obvious, and Dean was the one who needed to understand.  

Dean didn’t trust himself to respond, and was saved by their waitress returning with their food. Dean had no idea how he was going to get a single bite down, but snatched his knife and fork up anyway, watching Jack happily begin his own meal.

Not able to eat, not able to just sit there and _do_ nothing, Dean found himself wanting to talk, but had no idea what he wanted to say.

“You were angry.”

Jack’s words, mumbled for the food in his mouth, had Dean’s heart thudding, at a reminder of that temper that had overwhelmed him and felt as though it might take control.

“I was,” he replied, carefully, because he neither wanted to give Jack reason to ask more questions, nor risk that anger returning.

“Because of my... _assumption_ that you didn’t want Castiel back.”

Dean closed his eyes, tried to keep his breathing even, and gave one firm nod of his head.

“Then I apologize,” Jack said, sitting back a little, and looking at Dean with actual contrition, “it was not my intention to cause you any distress.”

Dean waved to say it was fine even though he didn’t feel it, and began to force his way through his food.  

“But I don’t understand,” Jack added, making it hard for Dean to swallow the mouthful he’d just taken.

“Understand what?” Dean asked, feeling like he was repeating himself from their previous conversation, and still without any clue what Jack was talking about.  

“Why you would want to… _let him go._ ”  

Dean shoved another tasteless lump of food into his mouth, arguing with himself not to snarl back at him.

“‘Cos, Jack?” he said, washing back the food with a gulp of that now cold coffee. “‘Cos if you don’t let go of the people that leave you, then there’s just… no way you can go on living. It… it _breaks_ you if you don’t, and I can’t… I can’t go through that again.”

Images of when Dean had thought he’d lost Cas to that lake all those years ago assaulted him, that ache he’d felt back then, only an echo of the nightmare he was experiencing currently. He couldn’t do it again, though in reality, everything he was going through was already so much worse, that it was as though he was going through all of those moments again all at the same time. It wasn’t a tan jacket catching his eye, or a song he thought Cas liked coming up on the radio, it was constant; a continual, gnawing ache for losing Cas. For never letting Cas _know_ anything about what he was thinking. For the fact that he’d died, essentially alone, not knowing how much he was loved—  

“But is this not worse?” Jack asked, looking thoroughly confused, as he lowered his knife and fork to the table and rested them on the edge of his plate.  

“What?”

“ _Missing_ him so much that you can... barely function.”

Dean wanted to retort. To remind Jack he was about five minutes old, and didn’t know the first thing about him. Was barely _human_ ; how could he think he was any authority on what it meant to lose someone? And how could he dare believe he knew a thing about Cas?

“Look,” Dean said, gritting his teeth to attempt to control the way he was talking, “I’m sorry you lost your mother and all. Might know a bit about what that’s like myself. But you never _had_ her, you never—you never got to know her enough to miss her. It’s not the same.”

“That does not lessen the pain of losing someone important to you,” Jack replied, curt, a touch of fury beginning to show around his eyes.  

Dean took in the grip of his hands around his cutlery, the way he ducked his head a little and glared, and told himself to back off, not knowing what his words might ignite.

“I’m… sorry you lost your mother,” Dean repeated, watching the tension visibly drain from his face.

“If there were a way to bring her back,” Jack said, frowning down at the table as his fingers drummed along the edge of his plate, absently picking at his food, “then I would. I would do it now. Yesterday. I _tried_ ; but there is no way to bring back someone that was only human. Not—not now. I did, when she was… suffering, with me. When she was… carrying me. I could bring her back then. But not now.”

Dean didn’t want to think about what that might mean, having no idea of all that happened during Kelly’s pregnancy.   

“I have to live with the guilt that it is I who killed her. Giving birth to me is what… took her life,” Jack added, flaring a little swell of sorrow in Dean’s stomach for him, though not quite enough to give him something to say back.

“I have… accepted that,” Jack sighed, raising his head to stare at Dean curiously once again.

“But if there was a way to bring her back to me. To have her _living_ once again, I would not be doing the same as you. I would not settle for _missing_ her. _That_ is what I am trying to understand.”

Dean shook his head, unable to avoid how the accusation in Jack’s tone and words stung.

“Not like I can just snap my fingers and bring him back here,” Dean bit back at him, shifting under the intensity of Jack’s stare.

“Of course not,” Jack retorted, with a tone of disdain in his voice, “you are human.”

“Yeah, well. Can’t do much about that either,” Dean replied, holding Jack’s gaze for as long as he could, then having to look away. “We should… find Sam.”

“Why would you settle for missing him?” Jack demanded, his words full of disbelief, and pushing back against the table as though he wanted to distance himself from the idea.

“What choice’ve I got, huh?” Dean all but yelled back at him. “God’s gone. I got no one left to make any kinda deal with. No one who can summon him here with some messed up spell.”

“Yet you do have _me_ ,” Jack told him, utter incredulity taking over his voice, “and yet your hatred for me—”

“I don’t _hate_ you—”

“Means you would not even consider asking,” Jack continued, waving at Sam as he appeared outside by their window, and beginning to stand.  

“Ask you?” Dean repeated, his heart beginning to race even if he wasn’t sure what for. “Ask you what?”

Jack turned back to him then, towering over Dean since he was yet to raise himself from the table, then sighing out hard. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Dean watched Jack shake his head as though disappointed, then turn on his heel, leaving Dean staring after him for several seconds, before he could think to follow.

“Jack… _Jack._ ”

Dean shoved back the diner door closing in his face, surprised to see Jack already a good few feet ahead of him. The kid had some pace to him, Dean thought to himself, picking up speed enough to be almost jogging behind.

“The hell you think you’re going after saying all that crap to me?” he called out again, seeing no reaction. The Impala, reluctantly parked further from the diner than Dean would have liked because of a lake-like puddle flooding most of the parking lot, loomed closer with the speed they were moving, and Dean wanted to have things out with him before he could fling himself inside.

“Jack; get the hell back here and talk to me,” Dean demanded, incensed for being ignored. The roar of blood in his ears was the only thing Dean could hear as he followed Jack, with Sam calling out to him uncertainly only registering for Dean once he’d cornered Jack at the car.  

“Just gonna keep walking away from me?” Dean yelled, recognizing some of his anger was misplaced, even if all the reasons for it were currently jumbled and not making sense. “ _Jack._ ”

But Jack was still not listening, and when they were a couple of feet from the car Dean finally caught up, reaching out and grabbing at him. Jack froze, one hand out around the handle of the back seat door, his head turning a fraction to look down at where Dean’s hand gripped tight around his arm. Slowly, as though time itself was coming to a standstill, Jack pivoted, turning out of Dean’s grip as he did.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dean said, shoving hard against his chest so Jack was stumbling back against the car. “You think I don’t want him back? You think I don’t care enough, is that it, huh? Don’t think I’m… don’t think I…”

But Dean’s words failed him, so furious he couldn’t figure out what he wanted to say first, as every argument demanded a voice.

“The hell you know about grieving, and losing anything, anyway,” Dean growled out then, noticing too late the way Jack’s jaw was clenching. “You’re nothing but a—”

Dean clutched at his chest, a squeeze tightening it so rapidly, it felt as though his heart and lungs were being crushed behind his shrinking rib cage, as he began to lift up in the air, until his toes were the only part of him still dangling against the floor.  

“My mother gave me _life_ ,” Jack told him, his voice a calm kind of fury that Dean would have been backing away from if his feet were still on the ground. “And I _took_ that from her, because of what I am, and who I am. I have to _live_ with that, because there is no way to do anything else. And yet _you_ ,” Jack continued, pulsing his fingers and stealing more breath from Dean, “you, with no compassion for anyone else’s grief, no time for anything aside from how _you_ are hurting. You could have, exactly what you want, yet will not ask.”

“Jack,” Dean tried to choke out, his heart racing faster as the yellow glow he had been dreading for weeks began to light Jack’s eyes.

“My _father_ ,” Jack said, his face screwing up in further fury, and his breath coming out in short, sharp blasts, “would ask me to calm. Would tell me, that you are _hurting_ , and this is why you are being so unkind, and are not listening. He would ask me not to be the one to cause you harm.”

Dean kept watching, as Jack seemed to be debating with himself, and started gasping in lungfuls of air as that pressure on his chest began to drop, and he was lowered back enough to be able to stand freely again.  

“You should be thankful that I know who my father is. My _real_ father,” Jack continued, still glaring, but that yellow glow gone.

“Jack, I—”

“If you refuse to listen, perhaps you should figure this out for yourself,” Jack continued, seeming to come back to himself fully, giving a slight shake of his head, then staring down at his own palms.

“Jack—”

“I must go.”

And before Dean could reach out, or find the words to stop him, Jack was closing his eyes as though trying to control his temper, then disappearing in front of Dean.

***

“The hell did you do?”

Sam’s voice came to Dean a few seconds later, making him jolt in surprise at his sudden appearance, even though he knew to expect it. He thought about retorting, biting back with something bound to start an argument, but then felt so deflated, that all he could do was let his shoulders sag, and make his way round the car.  

“Dean—”

But Dean wasn’t hearing him, numb, and on autopilot, starting the engine then turning the car out onto the road.

“Alright,” Sam demanded, harsh enough to get Dean’s attention a few miles out, “let me out.”

“What?”

“I said, _let me out._ ”  

“Here?” Dean asked in disbelief, scanning the view out the windscreen wondering where the hell Sam would go even if he did let him out.

“Anywhere,” Sam grimaced.

“Sam—”

“ _Dean_ ,” and Sam didn’t need to say anything else for Dean to know how exasperated he was.

“Look,” Dean said, growling the word instead of yelling it, attempting to channel the anger he was feeling into his grip on the steering wheel, “I’m… I don’t wanna be like this. I don’t—”

“So stop—”

“I _can’t_ ,” Dean croaked out, fighting the tension in his leg that coaxed him to put his foot down, “I can’t… I don’t know what it is Sam, but—”

“You _do_. Dean, you _do_ know what this is,” Sam argued, barely containing his own frustration.

“So maybe I do,” Dean amended, his thumb beating out an erratic rhythm against the steering wheel, “but I don’t—”

“Don’t wanna talk about,” Sam scoffed, “don’t wanna think about it. Don’t wanna deal with _anything_ , or deal with the consequences—”

“I don’t feel like I got a lot of control over this, Sammy.”

The confession choked another uninvited sob up from his throat, and Dean was so tired of the constant flux of emotion that tore through him so often, that he flung himself back in his seat as though that might help him avoid it. Then found that he couldn’t trust his own behavior yet again, sharply pulling the car onto the shoulder, and breathing hard.

“I’m… losing myself in this, Sammy,” and though he didn’t want to, even shaking his head like that might prevent what was happening, Dean felt tears pricking in the corners of his eyes all over again.

“And you’re gonna keep doing that if you don’t talk about it. Or… I don’t know, Dean; when I lost Jess, I just kept… I kept _going_ , because I had to. Because if I let myself stop for a second to think about it—about _her_ —I knew I’d never find my way back from it.”

Dean closed his eyes to Sam’s words, hating the familiarity of them yet not having the fight in him to do as Sam was suggesting. Then hearing the similar things he’d only minutes earlier said to Jack and loathing himself thoroughly for every word of them. He was so tired, of everything, of continually losing, and worse; continually feeling like tomorrow might be the day everything turned itself around, only to wake and find it hadn’t.

“Dean,” Sam said, in that pained, patient way that Dean was so used to dreading, but had no will left in him to try to escape it this time, “I know you’re… not dealing with this. And I know you’re… probably not dealing with this ‘cos you had… so much that you didn’t _resolve_ with him.”

Dean screwed his eyes up tighter as a thousand regrets, what ifs, and near misses descended on him at once to press him firmly into his seat.

“But Dean; you can’t keep doing this. If we can’t find Mom, can’t find a way to get to her—and believe me; I’ve researched every damn thing I can get my hands on,” Sam added, sighing to himself, “then we’ve still got work to do _here_. People we _can_ help. Dean; we’ve gotta—”

“Jack said some stuff,” Dean blurted out, cutting him off, his words circling around his head and squeezing just as Jack had done to his chest when he’d lashed out. _When you provoked him_ , Dean snarled at himself, dropping his head back against the headrest with a groan.

“That why he took off?”

The accusation in Sam’s voice had Dean wanting to snap, but he forced himself to breathe through it, tightly clenching his jaw until he could control his words.

“We were talking about Kelly. And _Cas_ ,” he added, wishing beyond anything he could at least get his name out without it feeling like it ripped a hole through his chest.

“And?”

“He keeps asking me, why, if I… if I felt the way I _did_ for Cas… the way I _do_ ,” Dean amended with a nervous glance to his side to gauge Sam’s reaction, finding that his scowl for him didn’t shift a fraction, “then how come I didn’t want him to come back. And it just… I know he didn’t mean anything by it, but I… it just… got my back up.”

“Dean,” Sam snorted, emotionless, “lately—what _doesn’t_?” which he couldn’t argue with. Just braced himself for another moment before answering, knowing how bitter his words would come out if he didn’t.  

“I kind of… I kind of said he couldn’t be missing Kelly half as much… ‘cos he’d never even met her.”

“ _Dean_ —”

“I didn’t even mean it,” Dean sighed, slinging his head back harder, “I just… he was getting to me. Kept going on about how… how he’d not… I guess how he’d not give up if he had the chance to get her back. Felt like he was implying I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t do the same, if it was even possible.”

“We don’t exactly have a lot options on that front now,” Sam sighed, leaving Dean to hum in agreement.

“Got exactly none.”

“So what was he saying?” Sam asked, when Dean couldn’t find himself to say anything for a few minutes.

“Just that; kept going on about how he didn’t understand why I didn’t want Cas back. Why I… how I could say that I… that I could feel all I was and not just… why I’d _settle_ for him not coming back.”

“I told him to… when he kept asking questions about Cas, in the beginning, I kept just… telling him to wait,” Sam sighed, turning his face back to the window. “Told him all I knew, but that if he had any real questions he should probably… he should probably wait for you to—to feel—”

“ _Better_?” Dean suggested with a snort, and seeing Sam slump in confirmation of that to his side. “Yeah, well. He _asked_ me, alright, just… nothing that was all that easy to answer.”

“It’s not supposed to be easy, getting over losing someone you—”

“I just,” Dean said, purposely cutting Sam off even if he didn’t know what he planned on saying next, “he kept… if felt like he kept _pushing_ , you know?”

“He has Kelly’s cell phone,” Sam announced, seeming to change the subject; enough for Dean to turn a fraction to look at him properly.

“So?”

“So,” Sam sighed, turning a little himself, “she made… so many videos for him. Telling him all she hoped he’d be, things she thought he’d need to be prepared for. Cas’ name came up more than a few times.”

Dean grit his teeth, wanting to find that phone himself and hear every last word spoken about Cas, needing something _new_ about him. “Right. Makes sense, I guess.”

“He watches them, all the time,” Sam continued, “not maybe so much now, but, at least the first couple weeks. I’d… leave him in his room, and when he wasn’t watching… whatever he was watching on Netflix, or YouTube, or something, he’d be sitting there, staring at that phone, sometimes mouthing along to the things she was telling him like he was trying to memorize them or something.”

Dean’s cruel dismissal of Jack’s grief for his own mother hit him square in the chest, leaving him reaching up to pinch over his eyes, trying to rid himself of the hurt look on Jack’s face in that diner, that he hadn’t bothered to acknowledge he was seeing at the time. He had to get away from his own thoughts, his own self-loathing, so started the car up again, and pulled back out onto the road.  

“You still wanna head back to that lake?” he asked Sam, trying to distract himself from hearing Jack’s words on repeat.  

“I want to be doing _something_ ,” Sam retorted, which did nothing but add another layer of guilt to that already weighing Dean down. And he couldn’t find anything further to say, couldn’t even tell which direction they were heading in. And again Jack’s words chased him, taunting and repeating and goading, until all Dean wanted to do was find the nearest motel, and try to get some sleep.

An uncomfortable press in his stomach left Dean feeling that he was missing something. Snatches of Jack’s words flaring up for him in his memory before fading away again leaving him clutching at straws. But the comments about Kelly only being human, and about Dean asking Jack something kept coming back to him; making sense for all of a second before making no sense at all. But then it hit him, hard and with such force Sam was calling out in complaint for the way he skidded to the side of the road once again.

“Sam,” Dean said, quiet though anguished enough for anyone to be able to hear, “we gotta… we gotta find Jack.”

“Okay, yeah, we _do_ need to find Jack,” Sam agreed, doubt in his tone from picking up on the panic in Dean’s own voice, staring at him so hard that it took Dean everything he had to keep his eyes fixed straight ahead.

“We need to… that’s what he meant, about me figuring it out.”

“Figuring what out?”

“Jack,” Dean said, scowling as his voice cracked, “I think he can… I think Jack can bring back Cas.”

“Dean,” Sam replied, soft and after a few minutes of pausing, “I don’t think… I really don’t think that’s possible.”

“But he keeps saying… he keeps saying, why aren’t I _asking_ him—”

“Asking him what?”

“It’s gotta be that,” Dean protested, not wanting to let even a second of doubt in now he’d realized what Jack had been trying to tell him, “it has to be that. It _has_ to be.”

“But Dean—”

“We need to get to him.”

“But—”

“You think maybe he’s around here somewhere?” Dean asked, looking out the windows as though expecting to see Jack walking down the side of the road. Dean felt so tightly coiled, that even the hint of someone wearing a jacket that looked vaguely like Jack’s would have had him either slamming on the breaks or speeding up to catch up with them and screeching to a halt by their side.

“Dean—”

“Maybe he went to the lake,” Dean continued, not wanting to hear any of Sam’s protests, “maybe he… maybe after everything I said to him—” and Dean swallowed hard for the cruel, dismissiveness of his tone, “—maybe he… maybe he went to see Kelly.”

“We don’t know that, Dean—”

“Hey,” Dean snapped back at him, “you were the one who wanted us to go on this wild goose chase. You’re the one who’s put the idea in our heads. If that’s the only place he knows—”

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam urged, all but reaching out to grab his arm, “just… let’s think this through.”

“We can think this through on the way there,” Dean told him. That had to be where Jack had gone. It _had_ to be; there was no other place for him to be heading, or even anywhere else that he knew. And if Jack could bring Cas back, Dean thought, begging himself not to have been making connections in Jack’s words that weren't there because of how desperately he was missing Cas, if Jack _could_ , then—  

“But what if—”

“He never said anything to you?” Dean demanded then, pressing his foot down a little more on the accelerator and having to talk himself into not pushing it even more.  

“You don’t think I’d have come to you already if he had?” Sam huffed back at him, and the slight panicked rage building in Dean’s gut for thinking Sam might have kept something like that from him dropped away again, leaving him chastising himself for even thinking it a possibility in the first place.

“I just—”

“Dean,” Sam said, deliberately careful, “are you sure about this?”

“He kept asking me why I didn’t want Cas back. Why I would… why I was _settling_ for missing him. He kept saying that he didn’t understand why I wouldn’t ask him, and… kept making out like me hating him was the thing that was stopping this happening. What else could he mean, Sam?”

“Did he actually say he could bring Cas back?” Sam asked, and Dean knew it came from a place of wanting him not to get his hopes up so he wouldn’t be even more hurt, but he couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t lose this glimmer of hope he’d been offered, even if he’d sent away the one person who could get Cas back to him, by losing his temper.  

“What else could he mean?” Dean demanded, anger at himself making him spit out his words. “What else would I have to ask him?”

“I don’t know,” Sam replied, “but you just—”

“He said something about Kelly only being human, so that’s why he couldn’t bring her back.”

Sam shifted in discomfort, first staring down at his own lap, then back out the window. “He tell you he, uh… that when she was pregnant, she tried to—”

“He did,” Dean answered cutting him off, “not outright, but. I got what he was meaning.”

“He blames himself for it. For her death.”

“She died giving birth to him, Sam,” Dean bit back, “if it wasn’t for him—”

“He didn’t ask for any of this, Dean,” Sam protested, “no kid asks to be born. You wouldn’t blame any other kid for—”

“This is different—”

“It’s not,” Sam denied, “it’s no different. It’s just ‘cos of Cas—”

“He _killed_ him, Sam,” Dean snarled at him, that anger resurging to raise his voice and having him pushing down that pedal a little more, “he did. All those promises he made him. All those lies? Everything he showed him; it was all a lie. Every bit of it. And Cas bought it, and it got him killed.”

“But Jack wouldn’t—”

“Why are you so defensive of this kid, huh?” Dean asked then, turning to glare at him for a few seconds before turning back to the road. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been there,” Sam replied, and Dean caught his shrug out the corner of his eye, “I’ve been that abomination. That freak of nature, that—”

“Yeah, well, who hasn’t,” Dean huffed, dismissing his words. His own brush with vampirism, the whole thing with the Mark and what he became afterwards—and not to mention the thing he’d become in hell. And that was only them; _Cas_ with the Leviathan, Claire and that near-miss with the werewolf. So many of them had suffered, had been near to turning into something they would hate being if they had any choice about it. Not one of them had asked for it, not one.

“I just meant—”

“He got Cas killed, Sam,” Dean told him, adamant that he would not be changing his mind on that, “he did. Whether or not he meant to. Whether or not he _asked to even be born_ ; he _did_ this Sam. If it wasn’t for—”

“Dean—”

“Let’s just get to him, Sam,” Dean said, not wanting to hear it, not wanting to spend the next few hours stuck in the car with Sam trying to make him think _reasonably_ , “we’ll… deal with it all when we get to him,”

***

Though he’d been adamant they’d find Jack by the lake they were already heading to, Dean’s knees quaked in relief when they pulled up to find Jack standing by Kelly’s grave. The engine was barely off before he was leaping out the car, his heart pounding so hard and fast for this possible one last chance to get Cas back, that he couldn't focus on anything else but getting to Jack. He hadn’t even figured out what he wanted to say to him.

“Dean—”

“I need to talk to him, Sam,” Dean said, pacing away from him, “alone. This is between us now.”

“You—”

“Sam,” he snapped, turning for a moment and all but pleading with him, “just… let me do this, okay?”

Sam scowled, his shoulders slumping as he relented, then reluctantly returned to the car. Dean sent a silent _thank you_ at his turned back, the spun on his heel and headed to Jack.

In different circumstances, Dean thought, finding himself stalling, the view there might be beautiful. A crisp, clear morning a little after six, having driven through the night, with nothing around them but the occasional sound of wildlife rousing itself awake. Dean had an idle thought about taking Cas to a place like that, just the two of them, as he had thought a hundred times over since he’d been gone. Maybe he would get to _do_ that now, Dean thought to himself, his stomach knotting and unknotting, and his knees threatening to collapse beneath him.

They wouldn’t have _anything_ , though, Dean amended, if he didn’t make the effort to _talk_ to Jack. He stared for a moment longer, then squared his shoulders, and began to pace towards him. As he approached, Jack gave no indication that he’d even heard them pulling up, stood staring down at Kelly’s grave as though he might see her through the dirt.

“Do you think she would forgive me?”

Dean came to an abrupt stop just a foot away from Jack, pausing before stumbling the last couple of steps that would bring him to his side. “Jack, I—”

“I know you did not know her particularly well,” Jack added, his tone unfaltering, still continuing to stare, “but do you think—”

“She was your Mom,” Dean answered, hoping that would be enough of a response.

“Giving birth to me, it… tore her apart. Not just flesh; atom from atom. She must have been in so much pain,”

Dean winced at the image but had no words to say anything much of comfort. “Moms… you know, most moms talk about forgetting the pain of childbirth because—”

“She is _dead_ ,” Jack bit back at him, finally turning to look at him, “she is not here to forget anything. She is dead, because of me. Because of who… what I am.”

“Jack,” Dean sighed, arguing with himself to show kindness, and searching for patience he didn’t really feel. He wanted to talk about Cas, about getting Cas back, and nothing else. But there might be a long way to get there between them before that could be reached. “Jack… your father—”

“If you mean… he, who impregnated my mother—”

“Yeah, him,” Dean quickly replied, already seeing the fury forming on Jack’s face, “you know. He… maybe you should think of it as he’s the one that did that. With… he’s the one who got her killed.”

“She died birthing me. He had nothing to do with that part,” Jack retorted, scowling at Dean for another second, then turning back to Kelly’s grave, and crouching down, hand out uncertainly in the dirt. And Dean was lost for what to say.  

“Uh, Jack—”

“You accused me of not knowing what grief was. What it was to lose somebody,” Jack said then, cold, and full of bitterness.

“I didn’t mean—”

“When I have lost the only person in this world who loved me, unconditionally. Who believed in me, and nurtured me. Carried me to term despite knowing the likelihood of her own death,” Jack continued. Dean thought it best not to contradict him in any way for that moment when Jack had to bring her back during the pregnancy, just stood there watching Jack where he crouched down, hoping to get the right words out to reach him.

“I’m sorry I said what I said,” he tried, knowing it wasn’t enough.

“I _killed_ her,” Jack said, his voice wavering a little, “she died so that I could live. And she had such hope—”

“Yeah, well, you did a lot of that,” Dean bit out before he could stop himself, bracing for Jack’s reaction. Jack turned his head to the side without looking up at him, as though inviting Dean to keep talking. Dean grit his teeth, turned his face skywards, and once again begged himself to find the right words.

“You know why I… I don’t _hate_ you,” he began with, grimacing, because both of them knew that wasn’t completely true, “it’s not that… Jack. Every single time I see you. Every time you… talk, move, do anything; you’re just a walking, talking reminder of what I… of what we lost. Not just Cas. People you’ve never even met— _other_ people you’ve never met, but it’s still… it still feels like it’s all on you. And you made… Cas told me, all the things you showed him, about… peace on Earth, a world without pain, and suffering. _Paradise_ ; you showed him all that. You gave _him_ hope; just like you gave your _mom_. And he believed in you. He believed in you so much that he… that he did everything in his power to protect you, no matter what it cost him. And he died, because of _you._ ”

Dean’s blunt fingernails dug into his palms as the words spilled out of him, leaving him heaving and trembling; even more so for Jack’s apparent lack of reaction. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, and demanded to himself that he keep speaking. “So all that grief, and blame, and anger you’ve got for yourself, for what you did to your own mom? I can’t _look_ at you, without seeing you doing the same damn thing to Cas. You got him _killed_ , Jack, ‘cos he believed in you. ‘Cos he was so desperate to have something good happen for once in this damn life of ours, that he believed every lie that came out of your mouth, before you could even _speak_. _That’s_ why I hate you.”

Jack didn’t move, his head still turned that fraction towards him without looking, yet not doing anything to acknowledge he’d heard a single word, leaving Dean torn between that hatred raging through him hotter than ever, or loathing himself for not giving Jack a little more time by Kelly’s grave alone to think. Wondering if that might be the only way to get through to him.

“Look—”

“Do you understand?”

Jack’s words were simple, would sound to an outside observer as an odd change of subject, but to Dean, they had no way of being misinterpreted. Dean had a moment of doubt, wondering yet again if he was reaching to make connections just because he had nothing else to go on. But he risked it anyway, because that ache in his heart wouldn’t let him do anything else.

“You can bring him back,” Dean said, soft, as though anything louder might take the truth away from what he was saying, “you can bring Cas back.”

“Of course,” Jack nodded, and Dean thought he might have as easily asked him for the time. But he held his breath, as his heart continued to spasm, hearing the confirmation of what he truly believed he would never get.

“But you can… _how_ can you bring him back?”  

“Nephilim have the ability,” Jack replied, raising slowly to his feet then turning to face him in curiosity.

“When regular angels don’t?” Dean checked, because it was too good to be true, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

“It is not… straightforward,” Jacked settled on saying, frowning a touch.

“What?” Dean said, his stomach dropping; cursing himself for ever believing this wouldn’t come at a cost. “Like he… like you couldn’t bring him the whole way back?”

“No, he would be, as you say, _the whole way back_. Only…”

“Only _what_?”

“He’d be human. I can only bring him back as human. And if I hadn’t known, how… _proud_ Cas was of his humanity, I would have… considered it a punishment.”

“Jack,” Dean said, urgent though trying so hard not to be blunt with his words, “why would you think it’s a _punishment_ , if—”

“Lucifer,” Jack said, cutting him off, raising his eyes to stare at Dean in surprise, appearing nervous. But Dean could see that nervousness was directed at himself, for not understanding the thoughts in his own head. “I assume this is… residual _thinking_ from him,” which was a terrifying thought for Dean, already going through the possibilities of Lucifer being able to control Jack from afar, and having no way to do anything about it. But _Cas_ , his heart pleaded with him, shutting out all other thoughts, _Cas—_  

“But you can bring him _back_ ,” Dean whispered, pleading with Jack for it to be true.

“I can,” Jack agreed with a single nod.

“And he’d… be okay,” Dean urged, needing the reassurance, needing it to be real, needing to not be _wrong_ for once.

“As okay as any human, yes,” Jack replied after an agonizing pause that had Dean’s heart leaping.

“What’s the catch?”

“The catch?” Jack asked, that frown deepening, and shaking his head.

“The downside. The… deal, the… why would you not’ve already done it, if it was that easy to bring him back?” Dean explained, slowly, because if he didn’t he’d be snapping at him again, and who knew where that would lead them.  

“Because of you,” Jack replied, calm enough for Dean to find it infuriating, “because you didn’t _want_ him to come back. You only wanted to _miss_ him. And you so loathed the idea that I would see Cas as my father—”

“Jack. How can you bring him back?” Dean begged, stepping closer, wanting so desperately to shake him to make him speak clearer, but not trusting himself. Or Jack.

“It’s simple, really. As his son—”

“But you’re not his _son_ ,” Dean protested, an ache in his heart for even allowing himself to get his hopes up. The hope slipped away, and Dean felt himself slipping, the strength draining from his knees, leaving him seconds away from tumbling to the ground.

“Families do not always have to be… biological,” Jack told him, his tone bordering on reproachful, implying Dean should already be aware of it. “Nephilims have the ability to… protect their parents. Heal them. Shield them. At times… resurrect them. I thought perhaps my mother may have… because _he_ is so powerful; though there was never any real chance. I have to accept that.”

Dean fought with himself to show compassion, to hear the hurt in Jack’s voice and do something about it. But he couldn’t, his only thought being to get _Cas_. “Then—”

“I would give my blood, and the other person who wanted him back would give theirs—normally, the other parent—over his resting place, and together with my… _energy_ , I suppose, that would… that would be enough to raise him,” Jack replied, calm and simple, in such steep contrast to the churning in Dean’s gut. Too simple, Dean taunted himself, shaking his head in denial, too easy, too—  

“How come you never told Sam about any of this?”

“Why would I tell Sam?” Jack asked, shaking his head in confusion again. “It is _you_ who would need to want this to happen, since it is you that loves him. Your blood that this would require,”

“You don’t think Sam’d be just as— you don’t think he’d want Cas back?” Dean demanded, his voice cracking. “Maybe not— maybe not in the same way, but—”

“Sam told me that if I had questions about Cas, I should ask you,” Jack told him, and though Dean already knew that from his earlier conversation with Sam, it wasn’t sinking in. It couldn’t be that simple, that easy for Cas to have been brought back earlier, and not already be there with him.

“Oh come on,” Dean yelled at him, “you’re telling me, all this time, you never thought to talk to Sam about Cas? Like… mention this whole thing about you being able to bring him back? He said he talked to you—”

“Sam said that you were… sensitive about Cas. That it was… difficult for you, to talk about. And that he… that he would not talk about things that… that were personal to you,”

Dean balled his hands up into fists, not sure who he wanted to strike out more at, aside from himself.

“But you can… you can bring him back,” Dean repeated, his voice dropping away again to a whisper, the word _please_ on repeat running through his mind.

“I can,” Jack agreed, watching Dean as though gauging his reaction.  

“So, how do we do this,” Dean prompted, when Jack added nothing else.  

***

The disorientation of being teleported was never something Dean thought he would get used to, his stomach plummeting at the abrupt change of location with his arms splayed wide for balance, not sure if he was about to fall to the ground. But then his eyes took in their location, falling to Cas’ grave there before him, and the knowledge that he was so close to having Cas back so overwhelming that he sank to his knees without thinking, hands splayed out in the dirt.

“You’re sure you can do this,” Dean asked again, straining to keep his voice steady, “you sure you’re gonna bring him back, and he’s gonna be okay.”

“Of course,” Jack replied, walking around to the other side of the grave. Dean watched him as he came to a stop, looking up to catch the thoughtful expression on his face that he couldn’t quite interpret, then dropped his gaze back to staring at the ground. “The question is, do you want this?”

Dean wanted to laugh. Throw his head back and howl with the stupidity of the question; from the moment that blade had plunged through Cas’ chest and stole him from him, he’d been dreaming up a million ways to get him back. But now that it was truly possible, Dean was still half-convinced he should pinch himself, make sure he wasn’t about to wake from a cruel dream. Now wasn’t the time for idle thinking, however; Dean focused on Jack’s question, tried to pour thoughts into words, and looked up at him again.

“Please,” he whispered, “I want Cas back. I _need_ him back; I need you to… _please._ ”

Jack studied him for perhaps another full minute, Dean’s heart pounding hard in protest the entire time. But then he nodded, screwed his eyes up tight, and breathed out hard, leaving Dean helpless but to wait to see what would happen. The air seemed to shift around Jack, blurring like the haze of summer heat over the hood of the Impala. His shoulders sagged forward, and the clench of his jaw tightened so much, that Dean was half-expecting to hear it crack. But then yellow eyes were staring back at him from across Cas’ grave, and Dean was helpless but to hold his breath, and follow the raise of Jack’s hand above it, the shoving of his sleeve back past his elbow, then making a slashing movement in the air with his free hand until a wide gash split up his forearm.

“You,” Jack growled out, his voice edged with the concentration of what he was doing. And Dean continued to watch, first as blood began to trickle from the gaping wound on Jack’s arm, then helpless as his own arm lifted of its own accord, turned and extended over the grave, and blood began to drip from it into the dirt. The pain, like a deep, stinging wound carved with a knife, surged up Dean’s arm a moment later, but he was powerless to move, just knelt there, half-bent over, watching his own blood spill.

“I’ll heal you,” Jack told him, and Dean thought it was meant to be reassuring, but that concentration was putting menace in his words. And if Jack could control another person’s limbs, slash them open without anything but his mind, the possibilities of all the horrors that could mean were endless. Dean tried not to think of them, tried only to think of the person prone beneath the ground before him, and will him back to life.

“Please,” he managed to blast out, and then the ground began to shake. Dean fell to his back, quickly righting himself when that shuddering stopped, palms braced against the ground pleading with Cas to start to move.

With a snap of his fingers, Jack healed both their wounds, then with a careless wave in the air swept back all of the dirt comprising Cas’ grave, until his body, tenderly wrapped in those curtains so long ago, was all Dean could see.

“Cas…”

“He will need a minute,” Jack said, staring down at Cas himself, a look of such casual observation on his face, that he could be watching some of those cartoons Dean had overheard blasting from Sam’s laptop when they’d been sat together and he was avoiding them both.

“Is he… will he be okay?”

“He will need your care,” Jack replied, raising his eyes to stare at Dean, “he will be weak. Disoriented. I have no idea for how long.”

“Whatever he needs,” Dean replied, his mind already going over everything they had in the bunker, and trying to list all the things they didn’t have that Cas might need.

“He will need care. And support. Patience,” Jack told him, stern, as though daring Dean to be anything otherwise.

“He’ll have it,” Dean promised, and Jack narrowed his eyes to search him over as though checking for the truth of his words, before nodding in apparent acceptance.

“I look forward to meeting him properly,” Jack added then, the tone of his voice putting an uneasiness and sense of dread in Dean’s stomach.

“How long is this gonna take?”

“Not long,” Jack assured him, “perhaps another few minutes.”

“Then you won’t have to wait long. To meet him,” Dean replied, swallowing hard for the soft smile and shake of his head.

“Oh, no. I cannot be here at the moment,” Jack told him softly, his brow furrowing it what Dean thought might be regret, “I need a little… time.”

“Time?” Dean repeated, already beginning to stand, bracing for whatever unpleasantness was to come.

“I need to… learn to control my temper. Think. Learn,” Jack nodded, as though to himself.  

“But—”

“You should take care of Castiel,” Jack told him, warning behind his eyes that suggested if he did not, there would be consequences Dean wouldn’t enjoy.

“I will. I—” but Dean was talking to thin air. Jack disappeared from him in a heartbeat, leaving Dean’s gaze to drop to the ground, where Cas began to stir.

***

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

“Cas…”  

With his stomach in knots, and his heart hammering so fast it left him dizzy, Dean stared down at Cas stirring in his grave, not daring to breathe. When that stirring became more than the occasional jolt of a limb, Dean unfroze, reaching in to haul him out and all but drop him down on the ground beside him, adrenalin flaring through his fingers to yank away those curtains so he could finally, finally see his face.  

“Cas,” he called again, nervous, disbelieving, terrified even. Cas’ gaze was glazed over, eyes seeking out without seeing, until he turned a fraction and finally looked back at Dean.   

“Dean…?”  

The raw scratch of his voice was painful to hear, but it forced a hard, choked sob of relief up from Dean’s throat, and without hesitating Dean was pulling Cas from being laid out in the dirt into his arms, into a brutal hug. Dean squeezed him tight, breathing hard against his shoulder, gasping hard when Cas’ arms raised several seconds later to rest in a cautious grip back.   

Dean couldn’t let go. Even when his legs began to cramp, and his back began to protest at being stooped over, breathing more difficult with how hard he was pressing his face into Cas’ shoulder. But when Cas shifted a little, it forced Dean to move, only pulling back enough to look at him, unwilling to drop his hold.  

“You here, Cas?” Dean asked, raising a hand to cup his face and staring at eyes he had never thought he’d get to look into again. Cas stared back unblinking, then licked his lips, attempted to clear his throat and nodded, apparently words being too much.  

“How ‘bout we get you inside, huh?” and Cas stared once again for a long few seconds, before giving another nod. “Okay. How’re we gonna do this?” and Dean pulled back a little more to assess Cas, to see if he could gauge the strength in his legs from the awkward way he was sitting, see if the sheer exhaustion on his face would even allow him to stand.   

“Think you can move?” Dean asked, and Cas slowly dragged his eyes away from Dean’s face to look down at himself in obvious doubt. Dean scrambled to his feet, first extending a hand for Cas to haul himself up on, and when that didn’t work, grabbing him from under his arms to hoist him up. Cas’ legs failed him the second he was upright, and in his rush to catch him before he fell Dean wrapped one arm behind his knees and the other around his back, shifting a couple of times to get as comfortable as he could under Cas’ weight.  

Cas’ arms raised feebly to wrap around his neck, and Dean wanted to cry for the gesture, Cas so very weak in his arms as they stumbled their way towards the bunker which seemed both within stepping distance and several miles away.   

“You doing okay, Cas?” Dean managed to growl out, still struggling to keep him in the grip of his arms. Cas nodded once against him with a sigh, but then let his head fall into the crook of his own arm where it was slung around Dean’s neck.   

It took longer than Dean would ever have expected, stopping to navigate unhelpful steps and uncooperative doorways, and it was when he set foot down the hallway to their rooms that Dean remembered what a mess Cas’ room was in. Dusty, untouched, like a relic to Cas’ memory.  

“Gonna take you to my room, Cas,” Dean told him, shifting Cas in his grip once again for the last few steps, “I’ll need a minute to fix yours up a bit,” and Cas gave a grunt that Dean took to be acceptance of his suggestion, but otherwise didn’t move.  

With a final difficult barge through his own door, Dean stumbled the last few steps to the bed, then lowered Cas to it as gently as he could, bracing himself on his arms either side of him for a second until he could catch his own breath. Cas let out another noise that he thought was further agreement, then straightened up and watched him for a moment, reluctant to leave him, but then had to, for fear of what he might do if he didn’t.   

Dean made his way down the hallway and as quick as he could tidied the room; a cursory dust over untouched cabinets, a dried out coffee mug on the desk grimaced at and thrown in the trash. He stood at the foot of the bed for a moment then rushed to the closet where they stored a growing amount of linen, pulled out a new set of midnight blue bedding he’d intended to put in Cas’ room at some point anyway, and gave a cursory glance around the walls, already thinking what personal touches he could add to Cas’ room so it didn’t seem so empty.  

Out of breath from the exertion of carrying Cas inside and making his room more presentable, Dean rushed back to his own room half-convinced he’d find Cas gone. But what he found instead was Cas, curled up in his absence and lying horizontally across the bed, fast asleep.   

Dean drank him in, holding his breath so he could check for the rise and fall of Cas’ shoulders, the white shirt, rucked up one side to reveal smooth skin, covered in smudges of dirt from that grave. His pants were dusty, and the way he had his feet tucked up together surged an ache in Dean’s gut. With careful fingers he stepped forward, gently gripping Cas by the ankle to remove his shoes, debated trying to move him so he’d be more comfortable.  

“Cas,” he whispered, trying to urge him awake enough to at least get a pillow under his head. But Cas wasn’t budging. Fast asleep as though the past few weeks he’d been gone he hadn’t slept at all; Dean balled his hands up into fists by his sides for a moment then left him again, returning with two thick blankets to cover him over with. And when he’d tucked Cas in so there was no chance of any draft getting in, Dean allowed himself another few seconds of just looking. Then turned on his heel, staggered his way through to the library, and cried until he was raw.  

***  

From a stiff-backed chair against the wall of his room, Dean watched Cas as he slept. The relief he felt for having him there surfaced every few minutes, but mostly Dean was gripped with the sense that he’d forgotten how to breathe. The mechanics were there; inhale of cool air deep into his lungs, exhale after a beat, then repeat. But when he tried, there were sobs waiting to be voiced, a thousand words clamoring to be released, and as Dean sat there, tentatively accepting that Cas was really, truly, honestly back, those words became confused. Stumbling over one another in their attempt to be let out, and not making any kind of sense.   

There were so many things he needed to say to Cas. So many things he’d fantasized about telling him, in all the time he was gone. Promises he’d made himself about not holding back, and fears he’d bargained with himself to overcome, if he ever got the chance to see Cas again. Even though he never believed he would.  

But now Cas was there, where did he even start? Cas had said nothing but his name so far, and Dean had no way of knowing if this weakness that seemed to have taken over him would be a long-term ailment or something that would right itself in days. Would Cas know he’d been raised by Jack, would he accept that he was only human now, would he blame Dean and his selfishness for bringing him back like that; would Cas have preferred to be gone?  

Dean pled with Cas not to sleep too long so this difficult conversation could be over with. Then pled with Cas to wake up just because he missed him so much. But Cas didn’t stir, leaving Dean’s eyes fixed on that rise and fall of his shoulders as he talked himself in circles. In fact, Dean got up a couple of times just to check he was still breathing, even pausing once to squeeze a hand around his arm, make sure he was warm, still there with him.  

When Cas did begin to move again another couple of hours later, Dean was perched on the edge of his chair holding his breath yet again, repeating that plea for Cas to wake up. He watched every tiny movement; a heavier breathing, his legs kicking out until they were off the edge of the bed, his hand sweeping out and snagging the edge of the pillow, tugging at it as though not sure what it was.  

“Cas?”  

Cas stopped moving, holding still for a couple of seconds before lifting his head, turning in Dean’s direction, then trying to sit up.  

“Dean—” but Dean was across the room gripping onto his arms to help him, slumping down by Cas’ side with one hand raising to cup his face, staring him in the eye.  

“You with me, Cas?”   

Cas gave a painful swallow that spoke of thirst, nodded, and managed to croak out a yes.   

“I’m gonna get you something to drink, okay?” Dean told him, already shuffling back off the bed, cursing at himself for not having the forethought to have a bottle of water or something to hand.  

“Dean—”  

Dean looked down at Cas’ fingers tangled through his own before he could fully stand, his heart thrumming hard in response, and squeezed back. “I’ll only be a second. Promise,” and Dean had never run through the bunker unless there was an emergency, but he did then, charging through with his heart still pounding, still half-expecting Cas to be gone when he returned—it wouldn’t be the first time his mind had cruelly taunted him with Cas being back, after all.  

Cas was still there. Sitting at the edge of the bed with one hand curled around it and the other wiping over his face, still seeming tired.  

“Here,” Dean said, announcing he was back, uncapping the bottle of water for Cas since he didn’t look to have much strength in his arms, then sitting down beside him, and only hesitating for a second before dropping his hand behind Cas’ back to sweep his hand over it in reassurance. “How’re you feeling?”  

Cas took several careful sips of water before turning a little to Dean. “Cold. Tired. Weak."  

“But you’re… you’re okay. Right?”   

Cas continued to stare at him as he sipped as his water, before eventually nodding, leaning to the side to put his water down but stopped by Dean taking it from him and leaning himself.   

“You know you’re, uh… that you’re… that—”  

“I’m human,” he replied, and the lack of tone in Cas’ voice knotted Dean’s stomach, having no idea how to react.  

“Uh,” Dean tried to say, hand up at the back of his neck as he searched for the words, still rubbing cautious circles into Cas’ back, “uh… yeah, Cas. Yeah. You are."  

“Jack, I assume."  

“Yeah."  

“Kelly?”  

“She… she didn’t make it,” Dean replied, heart pounding harder for not knowing how to answer Cas’ questions if they involved anything about how he had come back.  

“I assume Jack must have… exceptional powers as a Nephilim. With Lucifer...” and Dean closed his eyes at Cas’ assumption feeling both let off the hook and disappointed with himself when he couldn’t blurt out the truth. He would, he told himself, he would tell him. He just needed a little time to find the words.   

“So you were… you were gone,” Dean managed to blurt out after forcing his eyes open again to stare at Cas, telling himself not to.  

“I was."  

“Like… you know. Like… like—”  

“I was not dead, Dean,” Cas sighed, frowning and staring down at his fingers, “I was in the Empty."  

“The Empty."  

“Yes."  

“What… what was that like?” And Dean winced the moment the words were out of his mouth. “Stupid question,” which at least made Cas smile.   

“What have I missed?” Cas asked then, and Dean’s stomach dropped again. But he forced a breath up from his throat and told him of his Mom, and of Lucifer. Of the pyre for Kelly, and in a roundabout way, how they’d bought him back to the bunker to bury. But then Dean cursed at himself, for Cas having been back all of a couple of hours and already not being honest with him.  

“I couldn’t leave you there, Cas,” he whispered, pointlessly pleading with his own voice not to crack, “I couldn’t. I couldn’t stand to just… I needed you here."  

“Dean—”  

“I was… I didn’t do too well without you, Cas,” Dean choked out, holding eye contact for as long as he could make himself, “I just… I couldn’t. And I… I… Jack—”  

“Where is Jack?” Cas asked then, turning as though he might see him in the room, and Dean cursed himself again.  

“He, uh, he left."  

“Left?” Cas repeated, alarm in his voice, pulling back a fraction from the way they’d been beginning to lean towards one another.  

“Yeah, he… Cas I… we didn’t get on too well. I mean… I didn’t… I didn’t—”  

“He is a child, Dean,” Cas protested, pulling back a touch.  

“He isn’t,” Dean shook his head, “he—I mean he is. But he’s… he’s grown, Cas. He’s like… he’s a kid, but he’s an adult. And he’s got… he said he had to grow up fast to be ready for the world,” and Dean took a few moments to tell Cas all he knew of Jack.   

“You blamed him. For me,” Cas summarized when he’d finished, and again his tone was without emotion, so Dean couldn’t tell if he was silent with rage, or just didn’t know how to respond.  

“I… I did, Cas."  

“And that’s… why he left?”  

“It’s… not the only reason,” Dean blurted out, wishing Cas would have a more expressive reaction so he’d know what he was dealing with, “he… he’s lost his temper a couple of times, and he… he said he had to think. And learn, and… second after he… he bought you back, he was gone."  

“Then there is nothing much we can do until he chooses to return,” Cas sighed, looking increasingly tired, “and I am sorry to tell you this, Dean, but… but there is no way for us to open that rift to get to your mother from this side. Not now. If she is to return—”  

“If Lucifer hasn’t already—”  

“She will find her own way back,” Cas finished for him, pinching his lips together.  

“Yeah, well,” Dean huffed, “not exactly had a lot of luck in that department of late, so…”  

“Can I stay?”  

Cas’ question caught Dean completely off guard, winding him so hard he stumbled forward a little. “Stay?”  

“Yes,” Cas replied, his eyes dropping once again, brow pinching up in doubt, “here. At the bunker."  

“Cas,” Dean whispered, since his voice had failed him to do anything but crack, “‘course you can stay. You can’t… I don’t want you going anywhere,” and Dean without thinking slid his hand up his back to squeeze his shoulder, so tight it brought Cas closer to him.  

“And if I… if I need a little time. Before I am… useful,” Cas continued, eyes darting to the back of Dean’s hand for a second before moving to his lap.  

“Cas,” Dean whispered, his heart breaking for Cas even thinking that he might need to go, and hating himself for ever putting that thought in his head. “Cas, you’re staying. You’re staying, okay? You’re family; I can’t—I need you here, Cas. I. Me. Us; Sam’s gonna be so happy to see you."  

Cas smiled at that, a wistful kind of smile that had Dean wanting to yell for attention, selfishly shift all the focus on to him. But he didn’t, just continued to clasp on to Cas’ shoulder, that heat beneath his palm like an anchor.   

“You came back, Cas,” Dean said then, utter wonder in his still-broken voice. Cas continued to stare back at him, as he had been doing since arriving. Was he searching for something? Struggling with memories? Had he somehow heard all his pleading and praying whilst he’d been gone?  

“I did,” Cas agreed, a hint of smile turning up the corners of his lips, and Dean froze for a second for thinking Cas was reading his mind. But then a blasted reminder came to him, that Cas was human now, so couldn’t. Flesh and blood, heart and soul, and if he did things right, would perhaps never leave him again.  

“Cas,” Dean whispered, squeezing his shoulder tighter, then giving in to the need to feel more of him, by pulling Cas into a hard, desperate grip, fighting and failing to stop the sobs muffled into his shoulder. Cas’ arms lifted slow, but then raised to wrap around him, and at their awkward angle of being almost side by side on the bed, they held onto one another, as Dean felt himself come a little more back to life.  

When Dean could convince himself to release his grip on Cas he pulled back, squeezing his hands as they dropped back into his own lap, then stood up. “We’re gonna… we’re gonna need to get you some clothes and stuff,” he said, making his way over to the closet and wondering what he could give Cas as a temporary measure.   

“I… suppose I should… take a shower."   

The doubtful tone in Cas’ voice set off another reminder for Dean of all the things Cas would have to get used to as a human. His mind taunted him with one of his perpetual nightmares of Cas being alone and homeless, then lurched to images of Cas under the spray of a shower, and he had to busy himself, sorting through his clothes faster then turning round with an armful that he deposited on the end of the bed.  

“I think these should fit,” Dean said, watching Cas turn to look at the pile then back up at his face, “and we’ll… lucky for you, I guess, I’ve got some… I’ve got two packs of boxers still in the packaging,” which he gestured at, pulled from the pile, and tossed a little closer.  

“These are your things, Dean."  

“Yeah,” Dean huffed, “and now they’re yours. I mean, I know you’re gonna want to make some choices on stuff yourself, but. For now, ‘till… ‘till maybe you’ve rested up a bit, just… take whatever you want."  

Cas stared at the pile as though not knowing where to start, and Dean opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced again when Cas finally reached out. “I… remember this sweater,” he said, carefully pulling a warm, navy blue sweater from the pile and bringing it back to rest in his lap, “when I… you gave this to me when I… when we went for burgers, and I spilt ketchup on my shirt."  

Dean’s mind went to that very memory, of the three of them crammed around the table in a bar just outside of Salt Lake City, sheltering from the rain before they started a hunt. Cas had decided he wanted to eat something, and the lid of the ketchup he picked up to squeeze on to his plate was snapped, so the ketchup landed not only where it was intended, but also in a huge splodge down the front of his shirt.   

Dean remembered snorting with laughter, smiling hard at the mess Cas was smearing the ketchup in while trying to wipe it up, then nodding for him to follow him to the restroom. He’d taken off his sweater, glad he still had another two layers underneath, then turned away and adamantly told himself he wasn’t watching in the mirror as Cas shrugged out of his jacket, pulled off his shirt, and put the sweater on in its place.   

“Well, then you know it’s comfortable,” Dean shrugged, not trusting himself to say anything else, and reached out to pluck a pair of his most comfortable sweatpants from the pile. “Here. I guess you’re gonna wanna sleep some more soon, so. Might as well be comfortable,” then turned back to the closet and came back with half a dozen pairs of socks.  

“Thank you."  

“Think you’re… think you’re gonna be able to stand?”  

Cas looked down at himself again, pushing the small pile of clothes from his lap on to the bed, then braced himself on its edge, and tried to lever himself up. He dropped back down with a huff and tried again, managing to stand but with his legs trembling. Dean came around the side of the bed and lifted Cas’ arm to wrap around his shoulders then straightened up, grabbing the clothes and taking a hesitant step forward to see how Cas would move.  

With a stop-start motion, Dean walked Cas through the bunker, gripping tight around his waist to keep him upright, and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do if Cas slipped in the shower. “Stay here,” he told him, lowering Cas to sit on the closed toilet seat and grimacing at the huff of relief blasting from his mouth. And with a quick glance around the room and the neighboring one, Dean came back with a low stool, not ideal, but something at least for Cas to sit on so he wouldn’t fall.  

“I’m gonna put this here,” he called to Cas, positioning the stool under the shower head in what he hoped was the best place, then coming back with his own shampoo and shower gel to put within grabbing reach. Finally, selecting the two biggest, thickest towels they had, Dean hung them up next to the shower so Cas would be able to reach them, and spun back. “You, uh… you think you’re gonna be okay?”  

“I think so,” Cas agreed, still sounding doubtful, “perhaps I will… need a little time."  

“I’m just gonna be in the kitchen,” Dean assured him, “gonna fix you up something to eat. Must be starving, right?”  

“I think so,” Cas repeated, pressing a hand over his stomach and dropping his head to look.  

“Okay,” Dean nodded, even before Cas was looking up, “I’ll… I’ll come check on you. Not like… I—” and Dean felt his cheeks flare red, hand immediately up to the back of his neck and squeezing. “I’ll… just yell if you need me, okay? I’ll—”  

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas smiled, but didn’t say anything else. Dean stared back at him for another couple of seconds then nodded, and strided out the room.  

Back in the kitchen, Dean searched through everything they had in, cursing when they’d wound down so many of their supplies because they didn't know when they’d be back. But he found pasta, sauce, a stray onion and a couple of cloves of garlic, and after searching around in the fridge, a pack of sausages still in date. He’d made meals with worse, Dean huffed, pulling everything together, keeping his attention turned towards that bathroom in case he heard Cas calling, or worse, falling.   

When half way through slicing up the sausages Dean’s cell vibrated in his pocket, sliding it out revealed he’d missed a couple of calls from Sam, as well as a few texts telling Dean he was driving back to the bunker. He scrolled through them quickly, chiding himself for not having contacted him sooner, then fired back a quick, Cas is here, before returning to prepare their food.  

There would be so much to talk about when Sam got back, Dean sighed, pausing for a moment with his forearms resting over the edge of the counter. Jack being gone, Cas being back, the perhaps unsurprising news that their Mom wouldn’t be finding her way back to them any time soon. And there was no way Sam would stay silent about the honesty Dean had shown for how he felt about Cas. He didn’t want to hide it, Dean reasoned with himself, he just didn’t know how to say any of it. It was too soon, and there was too much to say.   

Dean groaned to himself at those difficult words in front of him, stood straight again, then went back to preparing their food, planning and replanning conversations in his head.   

“I didn’t know where to put these."  

Dean spun on his heel at the sound of Cas’ voice, surprised that he’d managed to creep up on him while Dean had been listening out hard. His eyes fell to the bundle of clothes in his hands, and then raised to look at the sweater, thinking how good it looked on him for a second, then clearing his throat and rushing forward to take the pile from Cas’ arms.  

“Sit,” Dean said, nodding towards the table, trying not to watch and monitor Cas’ movements and failing, catching his relieved sigh as he sank down. “I’ll… we’ll wash these later,” he added, nodding at the pile in his hand and dropping them on the table’s corner.  

“That smells delicious,” Cas announced, his eyes drifting over towards the pans and inhaling sharply.  

“Yeah, well, don’t expect anything too fancy,” Dean huffed, turning back and checking the pasta was ready, “we gotta do a run for food and stuff now. We didn’t know how long we’d be gone."  

“Where were you going?” Cas asked, and Dean grit his teeth as he drained the pasta, again trying to find the best path for his words.  

“We were gonna back to that… to the house where Jack was born and… I don’t know. Sam wanted to see if we could find a way through the rift."  

“It is not possible,” Cas told him again, a slight hint of regret in his voice. Dean spun immediately and caught the doubt on his face, and came to rest his hands on the table top, staring Cas down.  

“None o’ that is on you, okay? None of it,” Dean insisted, staring until Cas had to look away. “Cas, I mean it. Only person to blame for… anything that went down with Kelly, and that rift—Mom—that’s all on Lucifer, okay? All of it."  

Cas nodded but still didn’t look at him, and Dean straightened back up, sighing as he slid his hands from the table, and turned back to preparing their food. Their plates were huge; Dean’s appetite had decided to return, which, he huffed, was no surprise given the person currently sitting behind him and probably staring at his back. And Cas had to be hungry after being away so long, Dean added to himself, then looking over the mounds on each of their plates and thinking perhaps he’d gone a little overboard.  

“You don’t have to eat it all,” he said, taking the plates to the table and seeing Cas’ eyes grow wide in surprise, “I just… eat what you feel like. I’ll—or we’ll, if you’re up to it—or maybe even Sam’ll pick some other stuff up on the way back if you can hold out a few hours?”  

Cas took the fork extended in Dean’s fingers and smiled, “I think this might sustain me until then."  

Dean’s heart gave a solitary thud to hear the teasing in his voice, leaving him stranded for a second before he could make himself sit. He waited until Cas began eating, caught the grateful look back at him that said the food was at least edible, then began to eat, pleased to find it tasted pretty good.  

So now was a perfect time to have a conversation, Dean thought to himself, searching for a way to begin. Or perhaps it might be even too soon. But Cas’ doubt just a few seconds earlier made him realize that it wasn’t just one conversation that needed prioritizing, but several. Including, probably most important of all, Cas’ lack of self worth over the past however long it had been.  Dean groaned as he stacked up all the incidences when he’d wondered about Cas’ mood, and realizing just how far they stretched back. And realized that this was a conversation he couldn’t afford to let slip.  

“I need you to know something, Cas,” he began to say, pleading with his words to come out right. Cas swallowed his mouthful of food, then nodded for Dean to continue. “You… you might’ve been gone… a while, but… before that… before that, I need you to know that I noticed."  

“Noticed what?”  

Dean sighed, having no idea how to even broach the subject. He took another couple of mouthfuls of pasta, watching Cas cautiously do the same, and tried to change tactics. “Remember when you said to me, about needing a win?” and Cas nodded, but barely looked up from his plate. “It’s been… playing on my mind ever since… ever since what happened. And I… with you gone, Cas, I’ve had a lot of time to think. I mean,” and Dean shifted, having no idea how Cas was going to take any of what he wanted to say, “it’s not like I didn’t notice before that something was… off with you at times."  

“Off?”  

“Yeah, Cas. Off,” Dean insisted, “like… everything we’ve been through these past few years. Everything that’s happened, everything that’s gone wrong; I can’t help… Cas, I know you blame yourself, for a lot that’s happened."  

Cas stopped eating, carefully putting his fork on the side of the plate. “I have done many things I am to blame for, Dean."  

“Yeah, well, so have I. So has Sam. So have so many of us; I’m just saying, I noticed. That you… I don’t think you’d have made that deal with Lucifer back when you did, if you didn’t feel like… like you had to have a win."  

“It was my choice,” Cas replied, his tone clipped and defensive, and all Dean wanted to do was scoot around the table and wrap him up in a hug.  

“I know,” he agreed, “but I don’t think you would have felt you ever had to make that choice if you didn’t feel… if you didn’t… I don’t know, Cas,” Dean sighed then; how was he supposed to explain that he feared Cas’ lack of self worth was what had inspired so many of his choices? And how he’d been so slow to pick up on any of that, that he couldn’t help feeling his own guilt.  

“Dean?”  

“Cas,” Dean sighed, pinching over his eyes, and once again asked his words to come out right, “look. I can’t tell you how to feel, or think, or even how to react to stuff. Not my place. But I’m telling you now; you’re worth something. To me, first of all, but to so many other people. And it’s not just like… us—me, and Sam, but it’s… it’s Claire. Jody can’t say enough good stuff about you. Jack, ‘cos of everything Kelly’s told him, thinks of you like his dad, not just ‘cos Kelly thought you would protect him, but because you’re you, you’re good. And all the other people you’ve helped in this world, without expecting a single thing back for it, Cas. You gotta… you need to know you’re worth something, to all of us. You don’t need a—a win, to be accepted. You are accepted, just like this."  

Cas’ eyes became a little brighter as he followed the wave of Dean’s hand towards him, and Dean’s heart began to pound, not knowing how he’d react if Cas started to cry. But if that’s what he needed, then he’d find a way to help him, Dean told himself, taking another deep breath, and forcing the last of his thoughts out. “I… I’m not saying you need to… you need to be okay with everything that’s happened—and yourself—’cos of all of us. But you need to know, Cas, that we’re here. And we…  we love you, Cas. Just as you are. Nothing’s ever gonna happen to change that. You’re our family, and our friend, and… so much more."  

Cas lip began to tremble, and Dean couldn’t stand to see it. He jumped up, ran around the edge of the table, and put a tentative hand on Cas’ shoulder, waiting to see how he’d respond. Cas turned into him immediately, forehead pressed against his chest, muffled sobs and a multitude of confessions for things he wished he could fix muttered into Dean’s shirt, as Dean wrapped his arms around him, one wide across his shoulders and the other at the back of his head, holding on and waiting until Cas had cried himself out. And even then, he kept holding on to him, waiting until his breath had evened before tapping him on the shoulder silently and asking Cas to look up.  

Cas’ eyes were watery, red from all his tears, and without thinking Dean reached out to thumb those last few tears on his cheeks away. Cas sighed at the touch, and it made Dean want to wrap him up in his arms again, perhaps even crawl into bed with him until those trembles he could feel still working through his body were all gone.   

“How ‘bout I heat these things up a little, huh?” Dean said, nodding towards their plates when Cas finally managed to smile up at him.  

“That would be good."  

“I’d… make you some coffee, but maybe it’s best I don’t, and you sleep some more." Dean added, already across the room with Cas’ plate to reheat.  

“Perhaps that’s a good idea,” Cas agreed, and as if on cue, let out a soft yawn that had Dean smiling to himself at with his back turned.  

“I was thinking,” Dean added, “not that I wanna overwhelm you the second you get back, but… maybe we need to fix up your room a little. Make it a little more… I don’t know, like a real room, ‘stead of some temporary place."  

“Like yours,” Cas smiled when Dean returned to the table with Cas’ food, spinning away again with his own.  

“Yeah, if you want, like mine. I mean, you don’t have to go all out and decorate it with stuff straightaway or anything—or even if you don’t want. I just… I need you to know you’ve got a home here, Cas."  

Cas’ smile for Dean when he came back to sit down he thought he might play on repeat when he eventually went to sleep himself.   

“I’m gonna text Sam,” Dean announced then, snatching up his cell phone as he speared more pasta on to his fork, “get him to pick some stuff up. Anything you want?”  

“I… don’t know."  

“Anything you feel like eating? Or drinking?” Dean amended, smiling, putting down his fork so he could type faster. “Just for now. We’ll… when you’re feeling… stronger, I guess, we’ll head out. Get you whatever you need."  

“I’d… I’d like that,” Cas replied, a touch shy, and if that didn’t make Dean’s heart skip again. He added a few extra things to his list for Sam that he thought Cas might like, then scooped up more pasta, and smiled at him back.  

***  

 


	6. Chapter 6

Nervous energy kept Dean feeling the need to keep himself busy. After sitting with Cas for a good half hour after their meal, he’d convinced him to go sleep some more, his yawns getting harder to disguise, and the tiredness on his face leaving Dean fighting the affectionate smile threatening to constantly erupt on his face.  

He’d walked Cas to his room, monitored his expression as he’d opened the door for him, even pulled back the covers and dropped a bottle of water down on the bedside cabinet so he’d have something to drink to hand. Cas’ look up at him when Dean had covered him over was so grateful, all Dean had felt like doing was perching on the edge of the bed and leaning down to hug him, but he hadn’t. Though was unable to stop himself patting his cheek before leaving the room.   

Since then, Dean had done a probably unnecessary load of laundry, cleaned the kitchen until every surface was sparkling, sorted through every last book he could get his hands on to put a small pile together of things that he thought Cas might enjoy reading, and even tried a pointless Google search for how to help someone suffering with severe fatigue.   

He’d also been to check on Cas three times, ear pressed to his door to make sure he couldn’t hear anything he shouldn’t be hearing, and once cracking the door open, needing to reassure himself that Cas was still inside.   

Texts to Sam went unanswered on longer stretches of his drive so weren’t enough to distract him, and Dean didn’t think it would be wise to drink any more coffee than he already had. But on his fourth check on Cas, he was only a few paces along the hallway before a tortured moan put his heart in his throat, and had Dean charging forward, throwing open the door to Cas’ room in alarm.  

Cas’ head shook back and forth against his pillow, his mouth opening and closing in a repeat of the word no. His body contorted, the restless shift of the covers meaning they were pooled at the foot of the bed leaving Dean the view of that sweater rucked up and a lot of skin on show.  

Telling himself not to be so selfish as to pay attention to that, Dean swallowed a couple of times to chase the dryness from his mouth, then sat on the edge of the bed, first attempting to pull the hem of the sweater back down, then nudging at his arm to attempt to wake Cas, but having no luck.  

“Cas,” he urged, trying to keep it soft enough not to startle him, wincing a little when he shoved him a little harder yet still not succeeding in waking him up. “Cas, c’mon, buddy, wake up for me,” he said, sliding his hand up over to rest on his sternum for all of three seconds before Cas was gasping awake.  

“Dean?”  

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay,” Dean tried to soothe, the gasped breaths coming out of Cas’ mouth as his eyes darted about in clear disorientation sending an ache surging through Dean’s heart. “Hey, Cas. You hear me?”  

Cas turned his gaze towards him slowly, taking a few seconds to be able to fix on his eyes, before giving a slow, dazed nod.  

“Nightmare?” Dean guessed, surprised when Cas’ hand lifted to press over his own against his chest for a few seconds before sliding back to the bed.   

“I think so."  

“Wanna talk about it?”  

“It was The Empty. I dreamt of The Empty,” Cas told him, his voice soft, and his brow furrowing in concentration as though trying to see the dream in front of him.  

Dean’s heart sank, and he reached up to clasp around his shoulder, attempting to reassure him. “I… guess it’s normal. To think maybe you’re still back there, or something."  

“It wasn’t that,” Cas denied, shaking his head back and forth, before beginning to raise himself up to sit. Dean pressed a hand in the center of his back to help him, then kept it pressed there until Cas nodded to say he was okay. His eyes darting to the side towards the water bottle had Dean reaching out to snag it up himself, uncapping it without thinking, and passing it for Cas to take a drink.  

“Then what was it?”  

Cas took a few long gulps of the water before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and after hesitating, pushing the bottle back into Dean’s grasp. “I dreamt that all the angels in The Empty woke. Were aware of my presence."  

Dean shuddered at even the thought of it, could understand why Cas was as shaken as he was. “That… can’t have been fun."  

“It was not."  

“But, you’re okay, Cas. You’re here now. Nothing like that’s gonna get to you."  

“I should… get an anti-possession tattoo like yours and Sam’s,” Cas replied, eyes sweeping down over Dean’s chest and resting over where that tattoo was, as his fingers pressed unconsciously over his own tattoo.   

“We’ll do it. Soon as you’re a bit stronger, okay?” Dean promised him, sweeping his hand over Cas’ back, then helping him to lay back down.  

“I would also like to visit Claire,” Cas added once settled, and Dean groaned out hard at himself for not having thought to contact her already.  

“I’ll call her now,” Dean told him, squeezing over his shoulder, “maybe she can come here. I mean, while you’re getting better, so you don’t have to… I don’t know, Cas; I think maybe you should rest up a while,” and Cas stretched as though assessing himself for how better he was feeling.  

“Perhaps that would be better. Do you think she will come?”  

“Cas,” Dean huffed, squeezing him a little harder, “I call her now, we’ll be lucky if she isn’t already breaking the door down,” and Cas smiled at that, settling a little more.  

“Jody was very welcoming,” Cas added, frowning a little as though talking to himself. Dean fought back that swirl of jealousy he’d had for Cas’ time with Claire and Jody instead of him, and nodded.  

“Yeah, she said you visited a couple of times."  

Cas smiled as though the memory was fond, and that jealousy dissipated, replaced instead with a warmth of more reminders for Cas of how important he was there with them all. Dean wanted to find more of them to bring that smile back again and again.  

“Think you can sleep some more?” Dean asked, seeing the tiredness still evident on his face.  

“I will try,” Cas replied, wriggling a hand out from under the comforter to reach out and squeeze Dean’s. Dean looked down at the tangle of their fingers together and had the idle thought to kiss the back of Cas’, but couldn’t bring himself to.   

“Sam’ll be back in a few hours,” Dean said instead, squeezing Cas’ fingers for a few seconds before tucking his arm back beneath the covers and squeezing it there. “Thought we’d just get pizza for dinner, something quick. Sound okay to you?”  

“That sounds good. Thank you, Dean."  

“Don’t thank me yet,” Dean huffed, smiling at him and forcing himself to stand from the bed, “got no idea what kinda toppings we’ll get with Sam buying ‘em."  

“It has been a long, long time, since I tasted anything properly,” Cas sighed, yawning a little, “I am sure anything will taste incredible."  

Dean smiled at that, and found himself staring down at Cas, having to force himself to take a step back. “I’m gonna go. Let you sleep. But yell if you need me, okay? I got your cell charging up so when you’re up again you can… you’ll have it. And your wallet, and your clothes and stuff; I’ll get everything to bring on through here."  

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas smiled, his eyes already closing. Dean watched him for another few seconds then made his way out, gently closing the door behind him, already thumbing through his phone for Claire’s number.  

***  

“He’s been a wreck with you gone."  

Dean froze within a foot of the doorway at hearing Sam’s voice, his stomach dropping with dread. Sam had arrived at the bunker in a whirlwind, dumped several bags of groceries down over the kitchen surfaces then rushed through with only the barest of greetings for Dean. Dean had huffed to himself though smiled for Sam’s enthusiasm, and though there was that odd jealousy still flaring in his gut, chose to take his time putting their groceries away, groaning at some of Sam’s choices and shrugging to himself in approval at others.  

But with his hands then free of things to do, he was drawn to Cas’ room, desperate to see him, even if it had been only a couple of hours that he’d been asleep. Sam’s words were enough to send him spinning on his heel, but apparently his limbs weren’t getting the message, so Dean held his breath and waited for Cas’ response. There was no way to not interpret those words being about him.  

“He said he… didn’t do too well,” Cas replied, the words careful as though afraid of tripping over their meaning.  

“Cas,” Sam sighed, and Dean could picture him, perched on the edge of the bed with a hand up slotting through his hair with a pinched smile, “he’s… I’ve never seen Dean lose himself like that before. Not… not so much, anyway. Not… I didn’t know if he was ever going to find his way back from grieving for you."  

“I wish there was something I could do about that,” Cas sighed, sounding guilty enough for Dean to want to shove the door open and beg him not to.  

“You are doing something,” Sam laughed, “you’re here. That’s… believe me; that’s gonna make all the difference."  

“I did not mean to cause either of you any… anything unpleasant,” Cas continued, and Dean could hear the pain in his swallow, had to close his eyes to it and pinch over them to control himself.  

“Hey,” Sam said, softer, “wasn’t your fault, okay? None of this was. You can’t blame yourself for any of it."  

“Dean… told me similar,” Cas admitted, and the doubt in his voice had Dean’s heart fluttering in protest.  

“Good,” Sam replied, sounding pleased. Dean rolled his eyes at the thought of Sam being proud of him for getting some words out. “Good. ‘cos it’s true."  

“Sam,” Cas said then, and Dean pictured him shifting to get comfortable; was he still laid on his back? Sat upright with Sam’s help? Rolled on his side and propped up because he didn’t have the strength for anything more than that? “I think there are… many things, that Dean and I need to discuss,” and Dean was then convinced that his heart came to a stop.  

“I’ll say,” Sam huffed, and the teasing in his tone Dean scowled at, “about what?”  

“Many things,” Cas repeated, sighing, “I think that you are already aware of many of them."  

“Might have some kinda idea,” Sam laughed, and Dean had the urge to swing the door open again to scowl the smile right off Sam’s face.

“I don’t know if he will be happy to hear them; the things I have to say,” Cas continued, sighing again. Dean’s heart sped up another notch in response.

“Trust me,” Sam said, that smile even more obvious in his voice, “right now, there’s probably nothing you can say to him he won’t lap up for hearing. Just for having you here to talk to."  

“Things are… different now,” Cas replied cautiously, and Dean was sure he heard him reaching out for his water only to be stopped by Sam, repeating his own earlier gesture of uncapping the bottle and passing it to him. Dean told himself it was ridiculous for that jealousy to flare up for that.  

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “things are different. You’re here, you’re human, you’re not going anywhere. This… avoiding talking you two’ve been doing forever you can’t really avoid now you’re living in the same place. And besides. I won’t let you. It was bad enough watching from the sidelines before, when you weren’t here. One side of it anyway; Dean’s right—you suck at answering messages sometimes, Cas."  

Cas made a noise that Dean thought might have been embarrassed, but his own cheeks were so heated and his heart racing so hard he couldn’t be sure of anything. “I am sorry you had to—”  

“Cas,” Sam laughed, “I’m not complaining. I’m not; and to be honest, everything you two’ve gotta work out can wait. We’ve got you back; you any idea how hard it was losing you? It was… it was hell, Cas. On top of everything, and before so much else; it was hell."  

“I am… sorry to hear about Eileen,” Cas said then, and Dean was sure he was reaching out to rest a comforting hand on Sam. Cas had never met Eileen; how had Sam already found time to mention her in the twenty minutes it had taken to put their groceries away? Her importance to his brother reared itself in Dean’s vision as it hadn’t done in weeks, and yet more guilt hit Dean in the gut.  

“Thanks,” Sam sighed, his voice soft, and lost, “it’s… I can’t stop feeling like… we could’ve done something, you know? Stopped—”  

“Sam,” Cas urged, “there was no more you could do for Eileen than either of you could have done to prevent this… situation we have found ourselves in. With the rift, your mother, me; if I am, both you and Dean are telling me, not to feel guilt for such things, then neither should you."  

“I guess,” Sam sighed, and something else came out muffled that Dean couldn’t quite catch. “Anyway. You’re back, which is the most important thing. Anything else, we can… talk about, figure out later."  

“I am… glad to be here, Sam."  

“Yeah, well, not half as much as we’re glad you’re here,” Sam countered, and the easiness of the conversation between them as though they were picking up after being interrupted by nothing more than a couple of hours left Dean feeling ridiculous. Sam clearly wasn’t planning every word he needed to say to Cas, and Cas was so obviously speaking to Sam without the slightest hesitation. Dean felt left out, foolish, and so many other things he had no way of dealing with separately, let alone all at once.  

That tentative closeness he’d thought was his own version of progress with Cas then seemed stilted, and ungainly compared to the comfort he could so plainly hear behind that bedroom door.  And Dean had to be away from it, turning quietly on his heel and making his way to his own room for solace. Arguing back and forth that Cas had only been back a literal few hours and he was reading far too much into everything, as well as not thinking enough.   

Exhausted with himself, Dean sank down onto the edge of the bed, looked to the side Cas had been sprawled out on just a few hours earlier, then kicked off his boots, dropped his head down on his pillow, and demanded with himself that he go to sleep.  

***  

“So Sam got stuff for us to make pizza with, ‘stead of frozen stuff."  

Dean had lasted all of ten minutes trying to sleep before giving up, instead beginning to put a list together of things he thought Cas might need. He started out with toiletries, then scrunched that list up and started two separate ones; one that would involve Cas choosing things for himself, and one that he could do for Cas or give him.   

After dragging Cas’ trench coat from the closet and carefully folding it on to his chair, Dean had piled the clothes he’d sorted for him on top of it, righting them when they threatened to topple. He’d spun around the room, taking in the vinyl, his guns on display, and the other things he’d accumulated over the years, then snatched the list up from the bed and made his way around the bunker in search of more things Cas might want or need.   

He’d spoken to Claire, a lump in his throat the whole time she was on the phone for the gruff way she was trying to cover up her tears. But their conversation inspired him to add a few more things to the list he was making, and also made his heart soar a little for the thought of how happy Cas would be to see her.  

The list was in the library, with Dean in the kitchen grabbing a glass of water when Sam and Cas walked in together at perfect ease announcing they were hungry.  

“I thought we could just make up whatever we wanted that way,” Sam shrugged, “give Cas chance to figure out some of the stuff he likes."  

“Dude, you bought enough for, like, twelve of us,” Dean pointed out, though was already sliding packages from the fridge to spread over the counter, then opened the bags of pizza crusts and jars of sauce, and gestured for Cas to come closer.  

“So, Cas,” he said, dropping a stack of cutlery down on the side as he slid a cutting board closer and grabbed a knife, “do your worst."  

“Dean?”  

“I mean,” Dean said, spinning away to heat the oven and grab a couple of plates to put things on, “pizza sauce first, then this cheese,” he said, lifting up the bag of shredded cheese, “then… whatever you want."  

“Here, like this,” Sam said, coming to join them, picking up one of the crusts to toss in front of him then spreading a thick layer of sauce on it, and sprinkling with cheese, as Dean opened more packets and jars, and sliced vegetables, and pulled faces at the things he would absolutely not be putting on his own pizza.  

“Careful with those,” Sam instructed as Cas reached out for a jar of sliced jalapeno peppers and gave it a cautious sniff.  

“Spicy?”  

“And then some,” Sam agreed, snatching up a handful of the onion Dean had just sliced to scatter in a mess over his pizza. Dean took in the haphazard, uneven spread of Sam’s toppings, watched Cas carefully sprinkle cheese over his even layer of sauce, then slowly add bell peppers and tomatoes before looking over everything else on offer. The jalapeno jar pushed very firmly away. Dean smiled to himself as he began to prepare his own pizza, deciding he was starving, and scooping up a handful of different meats to cover it with.  

“Not going vegetarian on me are you, Cas?” he teased, catching him smile before reaching out and picking up some ham and chicken.  

“No."  

“There. Done,” Sam announced, with a final flourish of extra cheese. Dean grimaced at the mess in front of him and grit his teeth, glad he had three separate trays he could use for their pizzas.  

“Dude, gross,” Dean said then, nudging against Cas’ elbow as he watched him add pineapple to his pizza, even reaching for a couple of the pieces to straighten them out.  

“Nothing wrong with pineapple on pizza,” Sam laughed, leaning his hip against the counter as he watched them finish preparing theirs.  

“There’s everything wrong with pineapple on pizza,” Dean countered.  

“Like?”  

“It’s a fruit, for a start."  

"Tomato is also a fruit, Dean. You are happy to cover the pizza in that," Cas pointed out, nodding at Dean’s pizza, before scooping up a final handful of cheese to carefully sprinkle over the top of his. Dean opened his mouth to retort, but Cas’ teasing smile stopped him, and after staring for a couple of seconds he shrugged his shoulders then finished his pizza, rinsed his hands, and transferred each of them onto trays, waiting for the oven to heat through.  

He leaned beside the counter slowly sipping at a beer, watching as Sam set the table and gestured for Cas to sit. Their conversation seemed a continuation of whatever they’d been speaking about in Cas’ room, and every time Dean tried to think of something to contribute, his words failed him. Instead he killed time continually checking on the pizzas and resealing everything they’d just dragged from the fridge to put away again.  

Dean listened to snatches of Sam catching Cas up with things he’d missed that Dean had forgotten or not noticed himself. Smiled as Cas asked about a couple of TV shows he’d been pretty engrossed in when he’d been binging on Netflix, and a comment about music he’d grown to like had Dean reminding himself to take that mixtape he’d slid from Cas’ trench coat out of the shoe box he kept Cas’ stuff in, along with everything else.  

When the pizzas were ready and Dean sat down at the table with them, the conversation expanded to include him, and though it was done in the easiest, most natural of ways, Dean couldn’t help feel just on the edge of it, though forced himself to speak throughout.  

“So, uh,” Dean began once their plates were empty, clearing his throat and feeling two sets of eyes staring at him, “I’d… I thought we could… for the people we’ve… for those who’ve gone, it’d be good to… it might be good to… I don’t know. Toast, or something."  

“Kelly,” Cas immediately said, his lips thinning into a grim line. Dean nodded in agreement, knocking his bottle against the edge of the table.  

“Eileen,” Sam added just a second later; Dean’s stomach twisted in remorse for Sam and offered up a contrite smile.  

“Bobby. Charlie. Kevin. Crowley,” Dean added himself.  

“Jo. Ellen. Jess."  

“Jimmy. Meg,” Cas said after a pause, and Dean told himself he did not feel a stab of jealousy for that.  

“We’ve lost… so many people,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment, then raising his bottle in a silent toast.  

“But we’ve got you here,” Sam replied, smiling at Cas with such affection that Dean found himself swigging back several mouthfuls of beer before he could look at either of them again.  

“I am glad to be here,” Cas smiled back, tilting his beer towards Sam.   

“I know you just got here. And it’s not like we wanna rush you, but… any ideas what you wanna do now you’re back?” Sam asked. Dean first cursed himself for not having asked the same question already, and then cursed Sam for asking too much too soon.   

“I will hunt. With you,” Cas replied, taking a slower sip of his beer. “It is not something I want to do for the rest of my existence here. But I believe in the interim at least, that hunting is what I should do."  

“Should? Or want?” Dean immediately asked, not wanting Cas to feel forced into anything at all.  

“Want,” Cas corrected himself, smiling, “I think that considering my… admittedly limited experience with such things that I… that it is the best thing for me to do. I want to at least try. For a short time."  

Dean couldn’t help it. His mind flooded with wistful images of him and Cas in the future living a version of that apple pie life that he always knew was unattainable. An apartment somewhere, maybe a house so Cas could have a garden, a kitchen where he could experiment and prepare all the food he wanted, having Cas on hand to try every bite. Space for books, vinyls, and whatever else they decided to collect together, and better than anything, each other. In space that was no one’s but theirs. A spare room for Sam when he visited, who was, obviously, off living an apple pie-like life himself. A pet; cat, dog, guinea pig, he didn’t mind, but could already picture the affection on Cas’ face for it.   

“Dean?”  

Dean shook his head to rid himself of the image, Sam’s calling to him bringing him back. “Huh?”  

“I said, we should give everything an overhaul. Weapons, supplies, make sure we’ve got enough of everything here for the three of us. And Jack, when he comes back."  

Dean grimaced a little at the thought of Jack, and how they would behave with one another now that Cas was back, but nodded in agreement.  

“And we need to get Cas kitted out,” Sam continued, turning another smile in Cas’ direction, “clothes. Boots. Jacket. Everything."  

“Yeah, I already said about that."  

“Tomorrow, I’ll set you up a card, some ID,” Sam said, turning a little more towards Cas with the excitement across his face that was so typical of Sam when he had a project that Dean could recognize it a mile off, never mind across the distance of the table.   

“That… would be good,” Cas smiled back, nodding.  

“Got your cell?”  

“It’s charging in my room,” Dean retorted, interrupting; the slight snarl in his voice raising Sam’s eyebrow in surprise.   

“Good."  

“Claire’s coming over in a couple days,” Dean added, feeling like he needed to say something Sam didn’t already have in mind, or know about, then immediately feeling foolish for it, and leapt up to grab their plates, taking them over to the sink.  

“She is?”  

The soft surprise in Cas’ voice almost had Dean dropping the plates in a clatter, but he kept his grip on them to look over his shoulder. “Yeah."  

“I will message her,” Cas said, coming to stand beside Dean and watching, “can I help?”  

“Nah, you’re good,” Dean told him, nudging against his hip since his hands were already covered in suds, “go sit. Talk to Sam—and maybe message Claire tomorrow, okay? Just… rest up some more today. It’s been a long one."  

“You are sure?”  

“Go,” Dean smiled, nodding towards the table, and the grateful smile Cas gave him before moving sank straight to his stomach, blooming out warmth.  

Dean listened to Sam and Cas talking, smiling at their laughter, yearning to feel as at ease as they sounded together. He occasionally called out to join in, though fell silent when Sam brought up Jack again, making himself busy with unnecessary tidying in an already-spotless kitchen so he wouldn’t hear more than snatches of words.  

“I might go to bed,” he announced when he couldn’t stand the feeling that he was intruding any longer.   

“Dean?”  

“It’s been a long day,” Dean smiled in Cas’ direction, then stumbled forward, “not that I minded a minute of it, o’ course—”  

“This idiot drove through the night to get to Kelly’s grave hoping we’d find Jack there when he took off,” Sam huffed as he spoke to Cas, though it was laced with affection, “surprised you’re still standing."  

“Yeah, well, guess it finally beat me,” Dean replied, shrugging, and though weariness made every muscle in his body feel overstretched, and every bone double its weight, Dean doubted he would find himself sleeping easily. But he couldn’t be there, not when he already felt so out of the loop in their conversation, not wanting to ruin a single moment for Cas.  

“I need to wind down a little before I sleep,” Sam told him, shrugging, “I’ll keep Cas company for a bit."  

“Sounds good,” Dean agreed, already turning to leave.  

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas said quietly, and Dean grit his teeth for it, even though he told himself not to. “Dean."  

The only voice that could stop him in his tracks did exactly that, pausing Dean when he had already taken a step away. “Yeah, Cas."  

“Thank you,” Cas said, smiling at him when he turned back around properly, “for everything today."  

“What’re family for, huh?” Dean shrugged as though it meant nothing, ignoring how much his heart ached. Cas’ smile for him then stole his breath, and Dean felt suspended, dragging his gaze away after a good few long seconds, waving an absent hand as he walked away, snatching up that list of things for Cas on the way back to his room.  

***  

Dean couldn’t count the number of times he had laid there on his bed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. He thought of reading, then finding something to watch, because sleep was absolutely not coming to him any time soon. He considered listening to music, but the thought of covering his ears with headphones to block any other sound out made him shake his head in denial; how would he hear Cas calling out if he needed him, or hear him thrashing around his bed if nightmares came to pay him a visit once again, if he did that?  

Cas had been back less than a full day, and yet for all that talking—a lot by Dean’s standards, and all that proximity, Dean felt Cas may have been back months. Not that he’d ever get enough of Cas being there, he chided himself immediately in case his thoughts got jumbled and he made his own cosmic consequences that would mean Cas disappearing again, just for thinking about it in a roundabout way. And immediately Dean was reminded that he’d lost Cas, and that almost one day was nowhere near enough, made him debate dragging himself back through to the kitchen even just to sit and watch him speak, just to reassure himself Cas was still there.  

Sighing out in frustration, Dean reached out to his side, picked up his cell and squinted at the brightness there, then turned on the lamp and hauled himself upright, glancing around the room for something to do. His eyes fell on the notepad he’d been filling with things for Cas earlier, and he thought about what he else he could give Cas to put in his room. Posters, photos, maybe his own laptop or something; the list felt endless. There didn’t seem too many things he could give Cas that would ever be enough.  

A hesitant knock on his door interrupted Dean’s musings from wandering too far, leaving him shoving the notebook back onto the side, and dragging himself to his feet. He knew without even needing to open the door it would be Cas, a smile already forming on his face for the sleepy look Cas gave him as he stood back and ushered him in.  

“You okay, Cas?”  

“I am,” Cas nodded, watching Dean as he first leaned back against the door for a moment, then pushed away from it and came to stand in front of him. “I wanted to check that you were."  

“Course,” Dean smiled easily, and without thinking reaching out to clasp his hand around Cas’ shoulder.  

“I hope that you are not too tired because of me."  

“Hey,” Dean said, shaking his head and inching closer, “I’m tired, ‘cos I’m always tired. You know me."  

“You need your four hours,” Cas replied, smiling softly.  

“Exactly,” Dean smiled back, “you know I get cranky when I haven’t, and I didn’t wanna take it out on you. Either of you."  

The lie came too easy, Dean cursed himself, but how was he supposed to say out loud that he was jealous of the time Cas was spending with his brother? Especially as Cas had only come back to them earlier that same day? But Cas took it, believed it, his face becoming wistful.  

“I used to… enjoy watching over you, when you slept, Dean."  

“Creep,” Dean snorted, his heart jolting for the way it widened the smile on Cas’ face.  

“It was the only time I could be sure that you were safe. That I could protect you,” Cas continued, and Dean felt himself sag under the weight of that honesty, that need Cas had to look out for him.  

“Yeah, well. There’s other ways you can look out for me now. And I can look out for you; it goes both ways, Cas,” Dean huffed, telling himself he wasn’t noticing they’d inched even closer together.  

“I am… sorry, for all the times that I made you worry when I didn’t answer your messages,” Cas sighed then, and Dean was hit with so many memories of pacing the halls of the bunker begging Cas to pick up.  

“You’re here now. That’s all the matters,” Dean retorted with a shake of his head.  

“And I have no intention of going anywhere,” Cas told him. Fear that Dean hadn’t acknowledged he was holding onto, that Cas might do a disappearing act on him, dissipated leaving him light, realizing he still had his hand on Cas’ shoulder. He gave it another squeeze, then regretfully slid his fingers away.  

“Well, good,” Dean huffed, attempting to make a joke of it, “‘cos I’m telling you, Cas. You leave me again, I’m gonna hunt your ass down. Handcuff you to me if that’s what it takes to keep you around."  

Amusement danced in Cas’ eyes, and for a moment Dean wondered exactly what it was Cas was thinking. But he let it go, fearing he might misinterpret whatever it was, and continued to stare back at Cas, convinced he was trying to think of something else to say.  

“Dean. I cannot say that I missed you, when I was in The Empty,” he said then, blurting it out with an urgency speaking of how desperately he needed him to understand. “I wasn’t aware of anything."  

“I know,” Dean told him, telling his gut it wasn’t clenching in disappointment for something that was beyond Cas’ control.  

“But before then,” Cas continued, swallowing hard, “when I was away from you for so long—for any length of time. I missed you, so often, Dean. So many times,” and the slight brightness lighting Cas’ eyes had Dean lifting his hand to cup his face, swirling a thumb up over his cheek.  

“It’s okay, Cas. I get it."  

“I need you to know that,” Cas told him, staring and seeming to be silently begging Dean to hear him.  

“I do know it,” Dean replied, finding that it was true, despite having doubted it at the time. “I missed you all the times you were gone too."

“I know,” Cas said, smiling almost in disbelief; Dean thought it was for his surprise at being able to acknowledge such a thing.  

Dean’s heart chose then to thrum a little faster, and Dean held his breath, as though that might prevent Cas from hearing it. Cas continued staring back at him, tension across his shoulders speaking of him holding back from doing something, that Dean couldn’t anticipate.  

“You should… rest, Cas,” Dean whispered, feeling his throat click as he gave an awkward swallow. Cas smiled at that, and gave a slight nod.  

“I know. I am… on my way, now. I just… wanted to say goodnight."  

Dean’s smile couldn’t be wider, he thought, his cheeks hurting for it. “Well, okay, Cas."  

Cas huffed to himself, sensing possibly that Dean was laughing at him, which wasn’t his intention. But before Dean could say a word, Cas was closing the gap between them, wrapping his arms tight around his back and dropping his forehead on to his shoulder, and holding on.

It took Dean a couple of startled seconds to raise his own arms to hug him back, closing his eyes to the solid warmth of Cas right there with him, real instead of the taunting figment of his imagination, whole instead of the broken haunted look about him in some of his dreams.   

“I can’t tell you how happy I am you’re back, Cas,” Dean found himself blurting out, and though he fought against it, Dean allowed himself to rest his palm on the back of Cas’ head.   

Cas snuggled closer, hot breath blasting against his neck that Dean knew was going to keep him awake just for remembering. And in no hurry to move at all, Dean found them swaying a little together, not needing to say another word, not having any idea of the time.  

Cas yawning against him was the thing to finally break them apart, stepping back with a warm smile, that Dean thought might even be a little shy.  

“You need me. You need anything, you come get me, ‘k, Cas?” Dean told him, unable to resist cupping his face again.  

“I will,” Cas promised, staring at him for another few seconds before nodding to himself, then turning on his heel, and softly closing the door behind him, leaving Dean staring after him long after he was gone.  

***  

 


	7. Chapter 7

“So this is everything, I think,” Dean dropped the pile of clothes he’d sorted for Cas on to the end of Cas’ bed after they’d had breakfast, reaching out to stop his wallet and cell phone from sliding off the top of it. “Found you a different charger since you didn’t have one in your trench coat—and your trench coat's here,” he added, tugging on the tan material from the bottom of the pile.  

“Are you sure I can keep these clothes, Dean?” Cas asked, his hand out and his thumb and finger rubbing the fabric of a shirt.  

“Yeah. Course,” Dean nodded, “and we’ll… give it a couple of days and we’ll go get you some more stuff. Get you a new card set up, some IDs… you’ll be a regular person in no time."  

“I would like that,” Cas smiled, “the… clothes. I am not sure any of us will truly be a regular person,” he added, and Dean was sure the sigh he let out was wistful. That imaginary future he’d let his mind wander to at dinner the night before came back to him, and in truth was something he’d found himself daydreaming about several times.  

“What are you gonna do with this?” Dean asked, tugging on the trench coat again to distract himself. Cas watched his fingers, then reached out to slide it from beneath the pile himself, holding it up to inspect.  

“I don’t think I will wear it again. But I will keep it,” he replied decisively, walking over to his closet and hooking it inside, then turning back to Dean.  

“You know, Cas,” Dean said, hand up at the back of his neck and squeezing as he tried to find what he wanted to say, “you know you… maybe you need to think of this like a clean slate, you know? You being here now, and human—”  

“I know,” Cas agreed, smiling, “I do."  

“And I’m not saying you can just… I don’t know. Forget about everything that’s ever happened and just start over,” he added, trying to work out how Cas keeping hold of his old trench coat felt like an unnecessary clinging to the past, and how in his head he’d tied that to Cas holding on to his past, as though Cas couldn’t let go of any of it.   

“Then, what are you saying?” Cas asked, coming to stand a little closer, and that head tilt, Dean thought, his stomach dropping for seeing it, fighting the urge to wrap him up in a hug just for that.  

“I’m saying, you’re here now. You’re… I don’t know, Cas. I want you to… have a new start, and not—not worry about any o’ that. Don’t need to hold on to any o’ that stuff."  

Cas continued watching him for a few more seconds, then turned to the pile at the end of the bed, and picked up his wallet, opening it up. His fingers snagged on the edge of a photograph of the three of them that Dean had gazed on multiple times, then turned it for Dean to see.  

“I keep this, not because I might forget either you, or Sam. But because I… like to keep it. It is… sentimental, perhaps, but that is why I keep it."  

“Okay."  

“And on here,” Cas continued, taking his cell, “I keep photos. Messages. Not because I feel that I must, or because I need to. But I like to. It does not mean I am… holding on to anything, Dean. It is not that, at all."  

Dean thought of all those messages and photos he’d scrolled through himself, wondered how he could discreetly convince Cas to add some kind of password or something without outing himself as having creeped through his things, and could only nod in response.  

“It is the same with the trench coat,” Cas told him, a hand vaguely waving towards the closet. “I no longer need it, but for the longest time, it was… part of me, Dean. I want to keep it, only because of that."  

Dean let out a breath he wasn’t even aware of holding, and clasped him around the shoulder, smiling. “I get it, Cas. I do,” to which Cas answered with his own smile.  

“Thank you for your… concern, Dean,” he said, a little softer, and Dean’s heart betrayed him by fluttering for it.  

“And are you warm enough and stuff?” Dean prompted, needing to change the subject, his eyes darting up over the neatly-made bed, wondering if two pillows were even enough for him to sleep on. “We’ll need to get you some PJs when we’re out."  

“I am. Thank you."  

“Any thoughts on anything you wanna have in here?” Dean asked, feeling like he was already asking too many questions. And then his eyes fell on a tablet on Cas’ bedside that he narrowed his eyes at for not recognizing. “What’s that?”  

“Sam,” Cas replied, a soft smile warming his face, “when he returned, he gave me the tablet. We set it up with applications and virus protection yesterday."  

“That’s good, Cas,” Dean smiled, telling his gut it wasn’t clenching for the gesture of Sam buying Cas a gift.  

“We downloaded several books that he thought might be interesting,” Cas added, and Dean felt his smile become more false.  

“Great."  

“Perhaps you could suggest some… games I could add,” Cas continued, hopefully, “I liked your suggestions for my phone."  

“I’ll… have to think,” Dean replied, kicking himself for being anything but ecstatic for every single thing anyone could give Cas. Hadn’t he already thought to himself how much Cas deserved of anything he wanted?  

“Thank you,” Cas said, smiling and so unaware of Dean’s inner monologue, that Dean was hit with another wave of guilt.  

“No problem,” he said, absently reaching out to pat him on the cheek, then swirling his thumb there at the stubble that hadn’t been there the night before. “We’ll need to get you shaving."  

“No… peach fuzz?” Cas asked, smiling hard enough for Dean to feel it beneath his still swirling thumb.  

“Up to you,” Dean shrugged, echoing that smile, yelling at himself to take his hand from Cas’ face and after a few seconds managing to force it back down by his side. “Uh,” he said then, stumbling on what to say, his other hand back out and around the back of his own neck, “I’m gonna… I’ll leave you to it. I mean, I don’t know what you were gonna do, but—”  

“Sam will join me to watch something on his laptop,” Cas replied, that smile not going anywhere. Dean told himself he did not feel a stab of jealousy for that, and forced himself to nod.  

“Sounds good, Cas."  

“You are, of course, welcome to join us,” Cas added, his eyes getting a little wider; Dean cursed himself, wondering if his expression had revealed how much he felt left out.  

“Nah, I’m good,” Dean denied, waving him away, “be good for you to catch up with Sam."  

“It is good to be back with you both,” Cas told him, staring back in earnest as though he was desperate for Dean to understand that.  

“I know,” Dean agreed, swallowing hard, “and you know how… how happy we are to have you here, Cas. Always."  

“I do,” Cas replied, without hesitating. Dean felt himself relax a little at that at least, that they’d managed to convince him after little more than a day that he was welcome and that they wanted him to stay.  

Don’t leave me again, Cas, Dean begged him silently, half-relieved that Cas could no longer hear his prayers.  

“I’m… I’ll leave you to it,” Dean said then, nodding, not trusting himself to stay in the room, turning on his heel and walking out without another word.  

***  

The wind rushing in at him through the open Impala window Dean told himself would clear his head, but instead just left him shrugging down into his jacket stubbornly bracing against the cold. Cas occupied all his thoughts whatever he tried: Sam and Cas spending more time together than they used to—which was essentially a lie; wondering how long it would be before Cas was feeling better; when it would be too soon as well as not soon enough to attempt to force another conversation; trying to figure out every single thing Cas might need—endless, spiraling thoughts.   

That last thought was the one inspiring his current drive, reluctant though he was to leave the bunker now Cas was in it. Dean turned the car into the parking lot of the outlet he’d been heading for and went through a mental checklist before grimacing over the store signs and squaring his shoulders at the thought of cartfuls of shopping—even though that was exactly why he was there.  

In little under an hour, Cas had two sets of pajamas, an enormous fluffy blanket covered in bees that Dean both hadn’t been able to resist and felt a little foolish for buying, two more pale blue pillows complete with covers that would go well with the midnight blue set already on Cas’ bed, a case for the tablet Sam had bought him that he was not still bristling at the thought of, and some clothes hangers since he only had a handful spare to give him from his own.  

The photo store blew up the pictures he’d chosen for Cas’ bedroom walls perfectly and set them in thick wooden frames; one of himself with Cas and Sam with full smiles beamed at the camera, and a beautiful one of Cas with Claire. There had been a handful of others he had struggled to choose between but then decided to leave for Cas to decide on, since it was his room and he needed to put his own stamp on things.  

Dean picked up a few more groceries intent on cooking them a good dinner, and glanced at the time, wondering if he’d killed enough hours for Sam and Cas to be finished watching something—then growled at himself for being ridiculous and headed back to the bunker. Told himself he would not go to check on them, and instead put the food away in the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, settling down at a library table with a couple of magazines he’d bought that he used to read and discuss with Charlie.   

“Hey."  

Dean looked up at Sam as he passed him, mumbling a, hey, back, then waited for him to come back into view before asking, “Cas okay?” and winced at himself for those being the first real words to come out his mouth, taking Sam’s extended mug to fill with coffee before topping off his own.  

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, “he’s good,” then slid down into the seat opposite with a look on his face that had Dean wanting to slide beneath the table not to be on the receiving end of.  

“What’s he doing?”  

“Sleeping,” and Sam’s smile was warm, affectionate, and Dean loathed himself for feeling jealous for it.  

“Said you were watching something,” Dean bit out, groaning internally at how bitterly it came out.  

“Just a couple episodes of stuff to catch him up, then he got tired,” Sam shrugged, unconcerned. “You know he spoke to Claire this morning?”

“I didn’t,” Dean admitted, cursing himself for once more being overwhelmed with jealousy. He told himself he had no claim on Cas, and even if he did, what kind of possessive asshole did it make him for not wanting him to talk to anyone else? That wasn’t even it, he amended to himself; he just wanted to tuck Cas up with him alone for a few days to know he was back, to feel him there beside him—and to force out all the things he wanted to say instead of hearing them on repeat inside his own head.   

“Yeah,” Sam smiled again, “before breakfast. She called him at like… seven, apparently."  

“She woke him up?”  

“No,” Sam laughed, shaking his head, “apparently he couldn’t sleep, and started texting her about five."  

“Oh,” Dean laughed, tapping at the list of things for Cas in front of him that he was still adding to, “bet that went down great."  

“Guess she was too happy to hear from him to be mad,” Sam shrugged, and Dean’s jealousy faded away into predictable guilt.  

“It’ll be good for them to see each other."  

“Yeah, it will. I’ll… set her a room up, if you’ve not already done it?”  

“Not yet,” Dean replied, tapping at the list, “tryna figure out what else to get for Cas for his room. What to give him,” and slid the list across the table for Sam to see. “I’m gonna give him that cassette player I used to, uh… to make a couple new tapes. Maybe give him some stuff from the Impala for now, so he’s got something to listen to."  

“Sounds good,” Sam agreed, his fingers tapping along the edge of the paper before looking at the SciFiNow magazine Dean was working through. “What’re you reading?”  

Dean lifted the magazine so Sam could read the cover and echoed his smile. “Charlie got me subscribed to these for like a year. I still keep buying ‘em, you know? Makes me think of her."  

“She used to text me random Game Of Thrones quotes without any context,” Sam smiled wistfully.  

“Yeah,” Dean huffed, “I had entire conversations with her that were nothing but quotes back and forth. Star Wars. Harry Potter. Some weird stuff I had to look up so I could figure out what she was tryna tell me."  

“Every time I see one of those Hermione Funko Pop dolls, or… I don’t know. Anything. Makes me think of Charlie."  

“Man, I miss her,” Dean sighed in agreement, finding himself thumbing through his phone for one of the few photos he had of her, and turning the screen to show Sam. And he did miss her, more than he’d ever say out loud. The short time he’d known Charlie she had effortlessly wormed her way into his heart and become a real friend, someone he could reach out to without question, and know there’d be no judgement for it.  

She even knew about Cas without him having to say a word, Dean sighed, closing his eyes to the memory of the conversation they’d had about him not all that long before she’d gone. She’d be pissed at him for not having done anything about it already.  

“So, uh… we haven’t really… talked about… Cas being back,” Sam said after smiling at the photo, then going back to scanning over the list, and either nodding in approval at what he was reading, or not reading it at all and just pretending to.  

“He’s back,” Dean countered, immediately defensive, “that’s pretty much all we need to know."  

“Yeah, but how? How is he back?” Sam prompted, with Dean doing his best to avoid his eyes.  

“You know how,” Dean bit back, briefly catching his gaze over the top of his mug, “Jack."  

“Yeah, Jack,” Sam agreed, “who’s taken off again."  

“Told you when I text you,” Dean shrugged, “said he needed some time."  

“Okay. Maybe I get that. Maybe I don’t,” Sam sighed, “but what about Cas? How’d he bring Cas back, Dean? If he could… if he could’ve done that from the very beginning, why didn’t he? Makes no sense."  

Dean grimaced, not knowing how he was going to dodge Sam’s question, then deciding, to hell with it. “So maybe it was more than just Jack."  

“So?”  

“It’s… something I need to talk to Cas about, ‘fore I talk about it with you, okay?” Dean said, forcing the words out and glimpsing in Sam’s direction for only a second before dragging the list back across the table. “Think of anything else to add here?”  

“You’re not gonna shut him out again, are you?” Sam asked, and there was pleading in his voice. Dean had to look, and found that same pleading in his eyes, as well as worry, and affection, and even perhaps a little fear.  

“Sam—”  

“You deserve to be happy, Dean. Both of you."   

Dean opened his mouth to speak but found the words wouldn’t come out. He closed it again, closing his eyes and breathing out hard, and tried once more. “I’m not. I won’t. I just need some—”  

“Don’t tell me you need time, Dean,” Sam protested, shaking his head, “not after everything."  

“It’s… I…” but Dean’s excuses sounding pathetic even to his own ear. “He just got back, Sam. You don’t think it’s a bit too soon to just… what’d you think I was gonna do anyway, huh? Get him back and just… I don’t know. Throw myself at ‘im?”  

“If you’re gonna do that, warn me, and I’ll be elsewhere,” Sam teased, an easier smile taking over his face as he began to relax.  

“Sammy—”  

“I mean it,” Sam insisted, “I got no idea why you’re waiting. What you’re waiting for. You gonna try and pretend everything you said when he was gone… everything you went through… meant nothing?”  

“I’m not,” Dean told him, adamantly shaking his head, “I’m not, I just… you’re right. I do need a little time, Sam. ‘cos I didn’t ever think I’d get to have him back. And it’s—it’s a lot to take in. I—”  

“If you’re gonna try and lie to me—and to yourself—that you didn’t mean every single thing you told me—”  

“I’m not,” Dean bit back, scowling, “I’m not, Sam; I meant every word of it. But I can’t just… I just need a couple ‘o minutes to breathe, to… think how I’m gonna tell ‘im."  

“You think he doesn’t already know?” Sam countered, raising an eyebrow at him over the top of his own mug.  

“I don’t—”  

“He already said he knows you’ve got stuff you both need to talk about,” Sam added, and Dean winced again, not wanting to admit he’d overheard their conversation.  

“We’ll… we’ll figure it out."  

“Soon,” Sam insisted, “‘cos I’m not… I’m not gonna watch you not go after what you want ‘cos of… I don’t even know why you wouldn’t."  

“Just… back off, okay?” Dean sighed, no fight to his words, “I’m… I’ll deal with it, okay? Just… I need some time."  

“Look what happened the last time you needed time,” Sam pointed out, leaving Dean grimacing again. But the image of Eileen came to him then, and amongst the guilt he felt for not being supportive of Sam over her, he could understand Sam’s urgency for him not to wait too long.

“You know, Sam,” he began to say, eyes down to the table anticipating the scowl he’d receive already, “you… if you want to, you can… talk to me about Eileen."  

“Not right now,” Sam replied immediately, his voice pinched. “Maybe some other time. But not now. And don’t change the subject."  

“I’m not,” Dean protested again, lifting his head to catch Sam’s raised eyebrow and slumping for it.  

“Sure you’re not,” Sam huffed, draining his coffee. “Anyway. After Claire’s visited, and when Cas says he’s ready. Maybe we can think about picking up a hunt or something."  

“Yeah, well, no time too soon,” Dean told him, “he’s not pushing himself into anything too soon."  

“Including you?” Sam retorted, his face rippling as he tried to rein in a wicked smile.  

Dean felt his cheeks and neck flame red, but also felt his mouth curling up into a smile. “Sammy—”  

And for a couple of minutes they lost themselves to laughing, both their heads down in their hands against the table, with Sam groaning to himself and muttering things about ear plugs, and Dean whimpering in mortification.    

“Anyway,” Sam said, interrupted by his own snort of laughter, “I just meant, we could start looking. We don’t have to take anything on, and I’m… I know Cas said we can’t get through that rift, but… I wanna look into it some more."  

“Hitting the books?”  

“Exactly,” Sam enthused, “and with Cas here, there’s a ton of ‘em he’ll be able to read, decipher, that we can’t. We don’t… we could have who knows what kinda information, spells, whatever lurking here, but since we’ve never taken the time to go through it all—”  

“This could be the time to do that?” Dean finished for him, already approving of Sam’s idea. Easing Cas into their way of life had to be better than throwing him in at the deep end, and since they were apparently in one of their rare lulls in between anything too apocalyptic, they could take their time.  

“We’ll… figure it out,” Dean said, nodding.  

“You want some help with this?” Sam asked, nodding towards the list.  

“I’m good for now,” Dean told him, shaking his head, “when he’s… when he’s stronger we’ll… head out. Get some stuff."  

“I’ll do that ID today,” Sam replied with a yawn and a stretch, “forgot about it this morning. It’s just so… good, to have him back, you know?”  

Dean gave him a pinched smile, and nodded, thinking good didn’t do it justice. “Yeah. Yeah, it is,” is all he said though, wondering how long Cas would be asleep.  

***  

Dean adjusted the photo frames under his arm so he wouldn’t drop them, and wedged the large bag he was carrying against the frame with his hip so he could free his hand to knock on Cas’ door, telling himself his stomach wasn’t knotting for seeing him. Cas swung the door open, his face immediately lighting up with a smile, and though Dean was pleased to see it the bags under his eyes had him worrying.  

“Hey. Thought you were catching up on sleep?”  

“I tried,” Cas sighed, watching Dean as he waved away his offer of help, then stepped back for him to come in, “I am having difficulty. Perhaps I have slept too much."  

“How’re you feeling?” Dean asked, dropping the photos and bag on the bed and reaching out without thinking to cup Cas’ face, checking him over, worrying about a fever, a cold, anything that might make him sick. “You doing okay?”  

“I think so,” Cas replied, closing his eyes at the touch, and, Dean thought, leaning into it. “I am just tired. Cold. Still weak—my legs, they are a little unsteady, and if I lift anything, it—”  

“You’ve been back five minutes, Cas, give yourself a break,” Dean retorted, and waited until Cas nodded against his palm before sliding his hand away. “Give me two minutes. I’ll be back,” and Dean turned on his heel, charging back through to his own room to come back with the cassette player, his box of tapes, and a hammer and some nails. Cas eyed his full hands as he walked back in, then glanced up at his face with a bemused smile.  

“Dean?”  

“So first,” he said, dropping everything down on the bed then picking up the cassette player, “I thought maybe you should have this."  

“Your cassette player?”  

“Yours now,” Dean told him, with an easy shrug, “where’d you think?”  

Cas’ eyes darted around the room before pointing to a shelf close to a socket. “Perhaps here?”  

“Then you can listen to that tape I made you,” Dean added as he walked across the room to plug the player in, “and take a handful of those out that box there too."  

“But these are for the Impala,” Cas protested, and Dean turned back to see him looking doubtfully at the box, his fingers gripped around the edge of it.  

“Yeah. So?” he shrugged, first handing over the mixtape he’d made from his back pocket where he’d wedged it, and then rummaging in the box for a handful to pass to Cas. “Play these. See how you like them, then we’ll trade. Maybe make new ones. Deal?”  

“Okay,” Cas agreed, solemn and a little surprised, Dean thought, having to turn away so he didn’t catch his smile.  

“And I thought,” Dean added, picking up the framed photos, “maybe you could hang these."  

Cas’ eyes became soft as he took the frames from Dean’s extended hands, smiling at each of them in turn, and Dean was sure he’d made a good choice. “These are beautiful, Dean. Thank you."  

“No problem,” he told him, plucking them from Cas’ fingers again, “where’d you want ‘em?”  

Cas pivoted on the spot to look at the blank walls around them, then pointed.  

“Which one?”  

“This,” Cas said, gesturing to the one of him and Claire, and Dean swore he could feel Cas’ eyes on him as he dropped the other back to the bed then picked up the hammer and nails and walked across the room.  

“About here?”  

“Yes,” and Dean hammered the nail into the wall then hung the picture, standing back to check it was balanced.  

“This one?” Dean asked, turning again, waving the photo of him, Sam, and Cas.  

“Here, I think,” Cas told him, pointing at the opposite wall, and Dean nodded, scooting around the other side of the bed and making quick work of hanging that one as well.  

“Okay,” Dean nodded to himself, smiling around the room, “that’s a little better. We’ll do more. Whatever you want in here, Cas, okay?”  

“Okay,” Cas smiled, so full of affection Dean felt it blooming in his chest.  

“No problem,” he said dismissively to cover up how pleased he was. “Got you a couple things. Maybe it’ll help with the cold thing. Maybe the sleeping,” he added, and Dean pulled the pillows, blanket, and pajamas he’d bought earlier out for Cas to see. “Maybe if we layer up your bed a bit, you won’t be so cold. More comfortable, anyway."  

“Perhaps. Thank you—”  

“Stop saying thank you,” Dean huffed, picking up the blanket and yanking it out its packaging, draping it around Cas’ shoulders and gesturing for him to grip the edges of it, “sit. Wrap up. How come you’re not sleeping, anyway, huh? You’re not… nightmares, or…?”  

“I don’t think so,” Cas replied, shaking his head as he sank down on the side of the bed, watching Dean unnecessarily fluff the new pillows to put at the headboard, hang the clothes hangers in the closet, and put the pajamas on a chair before folding up all the packaging into the bag to trash.  

“Maybe you’re just… adjusting?” Dean suggested, shifting the box of tapes to the chair as well so he could sit on the other side of the bed.  

“Perhaps."  

“Or… are you thinking, Cas? About… I know we didn’t talk too much about it, but… all that stuff I said, about you, before—”  

“It is one thing that I am thinking about, yes,” Cas replied, cautiously and with his eyes down on his lap, purposely away from Dean.  

“I can listen, if you want,” Dean offered, shifting to get comfortable, though not sure if Cas really would want to talk. He thought about offering to stay with him, to see if that would help, but immediately dismissed the idea as stupid.  

“I would like that,” Cas smiled, lifting his head, “although perhaps not now. Not yet."  

“Whenever you want, Cas. I mean it,” and once Cas looked at him properly Dean ducked to maintain the eye contact, not looking away until Cas nodded back. “Want me to put some games on your tablet, Cas?” he asked then to change the subject, swiveling to look for the tablet.  

“Yes, please,” and Cas reached out to the side for tablet, holding it out for him. Dean first slotted it into the new case he’d bought, and then began scrolling through the apps already installed and groaned at some of Sam’s choices, noting the generic picture for the background and wondering what Cas might change it to.  

“If I put these on, you’re not gonna sit here all night playing ‘em, are you?” Dean demanded softly, watching Cas rearrange the blanket around him and absently stroke out over one of the bees with a smile, then lift and shake his head. “‘Cos that sure as hell won’t help you sleep."  

“Perhaps for only an hour,” to which Dean rolled his eyes but smiled back.   

“So. Sam’s got a room ready for Claire,” Dean said as he scrolled through the game choices and narrowing it down to three.  

“Yes, he told me,” Cas smiled, still absently stroking over one of the bees on his blanket, which Dean thought was good, since it gave him chance to hide his scowl.  

“So. What are you gonna do for the rest of the day?” Dean asked, wanting to spend time with Cas, and yet not wanting to ask.  

“You were the one who told me how important it was to rest, Dean,” Cas pointed out in teasing, stretching a little. “If I cannot sleep, then perhaps I will do that. Just rest. Perhaps listen to music."  

Dean wanted to invite himself to stay, to listen with him, maybe talk about and figure out the music Cas liked. But he didn’t. “True. And besides,” Dean added, “best to get yourself rested up before Claire gets here tomorrow, right?”  

“Yes,” Cas smiled, in clear excitement for that to happen.  

“Not that we don’t wanna see Claire,” Dean said then as the thought occurred to him, “but we’ll… me and Sam’ll head out for a few hours, give you some time alone."  

“You don’t need to do that, Dean—”  

“Yeah, well, I wanna,” Dean countered, cutting him off, “I’m sure you two’ve got… all kindsa stuff to catch up on."  

“We can do that with you here."  

“You can,” Dean agreed, “but I wanna give you some time together. It’s important."   

“You and I also have… much to talk about,” Cas announced then, and it felt like a change of subject as much as something Cas had been rehearsing saying.  

“We do,” Dean agreed, his heart already flighty and his stomach dropping, and having to stand up and move for the tremble seeping through his limbs.  

“Perhaps not… right now,” Cas amended, nervousness creeping into his expression, “perhaps after… Claire’s visit."  

Dean smiled at that, both comforted and disgruntled that they were both stalling for time. “That’d be good."  

Cas nodded and stared down at his hands in his lap. “Sam said that he would show me some of the changes you have made to the bunker."  

“That… well, yeah. Guess that’s good,” Dean replied, having no idea what Sam would be showing him, and after standing awkwardly in the middle of the room with no idea what to do with himself, walked over to the cassette player and started rummaging through the handful of tapes he’d passed Cas and checking he’d made a decent selection, then slotting the mix tape in he’d made, ready to play.  

“He mentioned wanting to… research some things."  

“Not today,” Dean denied, shaking his head and turning back around to face him, “rest up today. And tomorrow, while Claire’s here. You don’t need to do anything too much yet, okay?”  

Cas smiled up at him in affection, and then in recognition as the cassette player blasted out halfway through a song. “He also said that he wants to take new photos for my IDs."  

“You’ll need ‘em,” Dean agreed as he adjusted volume, “any thoughts on a surname? Maybe not the best idea to keep with Novak."  

“I thought perhaps… Winchester,” Cas replied, not looking at him. Dean’s heart gave a violent thud at that, letting his imagination get away from him for a second of a more formal way of Cas getting his surname, then shaking his head to clear it.  

“Cas Winchester. Sounds good. I like it, Cas. I like it a lot."  

“As do I,” Cas smiled, lifting his head with less caution, then coming to stand by his side, one hand firmly gripped to keep his blanket around his shoulders, and the other hesitantly lifting to squeeze around Dean’s arm.  

“I’m… making burgers tonight,” Dean announced, staring down at Cas’ fingers before Cas dragged them away.  

“I am sure they will be delicious,” Cas told him, that smile widening a little. Dean stared back at him and pleaded with himself to look away.  

“You… you get some rest, okay, Cas?” Dean told him, squeezing around his shoulder. “Maybe go do your stuff with Sam later. I’ll… see you at dinner,” and he waited for Cas to nod, then raised an eyebrow and tilted his chin towards the bed telling Cas to go, smiling in approval as he stretched out. And once Cas was settled, Dean waved before snatching up the waste packaging for the trash, and closed the door softly behind him, already going over their conversation and finding fault with all of his own words.  

***  

A soft knock at Dean’s door a couple of hours after dinner had him smiling, wondering if this was going to be a new routine for Cas before he went to sleep for the night. He debated calling out that it was open, but then leapt up from the bed and swung the door open to find Cas hovering nervously on the other side.  

“You coming to wish me goodnight, Cas?” he teased, leaning against the doorframe.  

“I came to thank you, for everything, Dean. Dinner. All the things you have done for me since I… got here. All the things you have put in my room."   

Dean shrugged. “Told you, you don’t need to say thank you. You needed some stuff."   

“I appreciate it, Dean. Thank you."  

“You’re welcome,” Dean smiled, straightening up from the door and gripping his shoulder, “want you to feel at home. This is your home, Cas."

Cas nodded slowly, taking a moment before answering. “I know."  

“Well, good."  

“You know, Dean. The things we have to talk about—that I mentioned earlier. They are… about us,” Cas said then, the statement sounding both out of nowhere and long overdue.   

Dean’s knees threatened to send him crashing to the floor. “Uh… yeah, Cas. Yeah, we do. I mean, I know we do. Have stuff to talk about. About us,” and how he kept his voice so calm when his heart was racing and his stomach knotting and unknotting, he didn’t know. Perhaps it was the nerves in Cas own expression, or even the way he stumbled a half-step closer to him the moment his hand dropped from his shoulder, that gave him a little strength.  

“There has been… a lot, we have needed to speak about, for a long, long time,” Cas continued, swallowing with difficulty.  

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean agreed, “yeah. There has."  

Cas shuffled a fraction closer, so close that Dean was sure if he breathed out a little harder their chests would be bumping together. He stared back at him, swallowing repeatedly himself, having no idea what their next step was going to be.  

“I have missed you, and I have lost you, too many times to… not talk about this,” Cas told him, firm even though his voice was trembling. “And I have been thinking of ways to talk to you about this for… the longest time. I was hoping, once we had resolved things, with Kelly, and Jack, that we would have time, for just us, Dean. To talk."  

Dean nodding repeatedly trying to make himself speak. “Yeah. Yeah, we do, Cas. Have time, I mean. I mean, we’ve got time now. That you’re here; we’ve got time here."  

“We do,” Cas echoed, and Dean told himself he wasn’t imagining it that his eyes kept dropping to his lips.  

“And after… after Claire,” Dean said, stumbling a little, having to brace himself with one hand on the door frame, “after Claire, we’ll. We’ll talk."  

“Dean,” Cas said, a little quieter, and Dean found himself holding his breath, trembling as Cas closed the gap between them and pressed their lips together. No fireworks, no sense of coming home, or anything like that, but still so very long overdue.  

Dean cupped his face as he kissed him back, closing his eyes as Cas’ hands settled on his sides, that warmth of his palms against him making him sag a little. And Dean let himself sink into their kiss, not overanalyzing it, or worrying about what might happen next, but instead allowed himself to begin to learn the taste of Cas, and leave himself greedy for more.   

When Cas pulled back, it was with a surprised look on his face, that morphed into a smile as Dean followed him, chasing his lips. He leaned in again for one more quick kiss then squeezed around his waist and slid his hands away.  

“Goodnight, Dean,” he said, staring at him for another moment longer then turning slowly, leaving Dean to watch him make his way to his room.  

Dean closed his own door long after he was gone, nervous excitement keeping his heart thrumming, and surprise leaving him standing there in the middle of his room, disoriented. And when he made it back to his bed, sank down into it and stared up at the ceiling, it was with his fingers playing with his lips, unable to stop smiling.  

***  

 


	8. Chapter 8

Cas had insisted on waiting outside the bunker when Claire texted to say she was a few minutes away having told Dean they needed to watch out for a blue Honda Civic four times in quick succession, and Dean had watched him all but bouncing on the balls of his feet waiting for her to arrive. He’d stood in silence as Claire leapt out the car and ran the two steps needed to get to Cas, already rushing towards her with his arms extended.  

Dean swallowed back several lumps in his throat just watching them, hearing murmurs of their conversation and smiling at the tender way Cas cradled her, the soft laughter when they pulled back to look at each other, and the hard shove she gave to his chest demanding he never go anywhere again.  

He and Sam received their own hugs, and then Claire had declared she was taking Cas out somewhere. There’d been a couple of seconds of idle talk as Cas had taken her overnight bag inside, and Dean had shrugged out of his own jacket for Cas to borrow, telling himself he was not excited by the thought of Cas wearing his clothes.  

Sam smirked at him as they’d stood watching Claire drive away, ducked back inside himself to grab jackets for them both, and they’d set off in the Impala themselves, in complete silence for several miles.     

“Spill."  

Dean turned his head on hearing Sam’s voice, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing.  

“C’mon, Dean. Spill. Tell me."  

“Tell you what?”  

“Why you and Cas are all smiley and blushing around each other this morning, being extra polite like I might not notice?” Sam replied archly, smirking when Dean turned to look at him again. Dean cursed under his breath, wondering if Sam had noticed that when he’d been fighting so hard to hide the permanent smile on his face, then maybe he’d also seen the way he’d tangled his fingers through Cas’ when they were clearing up after breakfast. Maybe how Cas had pulled him back just as Sam had walked out the room straight into the briefest of hugs.   

“We… said we’d talk about stuff,” Dean told him, which was honest, if only a half-story.  

“You did, huh?” Sam huffed, smiling to himself looking pleased. “That it?”  

“What more’d you wanna know?”  

“I mean, no details,” Sam laughed, with obvious tease in his voice, “but if just saying you’re gonna talk is putting a smirk on your face like this one—” and Dean pressed his face back against the headrest to avoid Sam’s fingers waving an inch in front of his nose, “—I don’t wanna be around after you’ve talked."  

“Sammy,” Dean sighed out in half-hearted protest, feeling himself smile even as he tried not to.  

“Where’re we going anyway?” Sam asked, and Dean wanted to trust the change of subject but knew the smirk on Sam’s face too well.   

“Figured, we could go pick some stuff up. You said we were running low on supplies, so. We can stock up."  

“And how much of what we’re stocking up on is gonna be for Cas, huh?” Sam replied with a wry smile that Dean winced at.  

“Not much."  

“What’s not much?”  

“Just… maybe some toiletries. Dude needs a razor; seen the stubble on him already?”  

“I can’t honestly say I’ve been looking at Cas’ jaw as much as you,” Sam laughed, “or as hard."  

Dean cleared his throat, losing himself for a second to the thought of that stubble beneath the swirl of his thumb when they’d kissed the night before. “We could do with some new towels—”  

“Softer, better ones for Cas?” Sam teased, and Dean wanted to groan out in protest but held it in.  

“We need some anyway."  

“Right,” Sam agreed with a huff. “What else?”  

“Nothing."  

“Dean—”  

“Nothing,” Dean insisted, then cleared his throat. “Wanna get something in to cook for the four of us tonight; I know I can’t cook like Jody, but I want Claire to have something half-decent when she’s visiting us."  

“You can cook,” Sam smiled, “I like everything you cook. Always have."  

“Yeah,” Dean huffed, “that’s ‘cos we didn’t have all that much to choose from for a while. You’d eat anything."  

“You made it taste good, whatever it was,” Sam shrugged. “Maybe mac and cheese though; haven't had that in forever."  

“Mac and cheese it is,” Dean agreed, turning to smile at him, “you can even have some o’ that salad crap if you want."  

“Which salad crap?”  

“Any of it."  

“Aww, look at you being all healthy when we’ve got company,” Sam laughed, but added, “maybe some chicken?”  

“Got it,” Dean nodded, then shifted in his seat, “and I thought. I don’t know; maybe we could… maybe we need to… Cas says he’s feeling weak still—”  

“He’s just got here. Got back,” Sam protested, and Dean had to nod in agreement.  

“Yeah, I know. But maybe… I don’t know. We could do with getting maybe some… I don’t know. Something to… some fortified stuff, or… I don’t know, Sammy; thought you’d be the one to know about all that."  

“You’re asking me for food advice?” Sam asked, turning to him with an incredulous look.  

“For Cas,” Dean told him, “it’s for Cas,” having the desired effect of Sam’s teasing morphing into understanding concern.  

“We’ll look,” Sam agreed, his face torn between further teasing and understanding, then sighing to himself and returning to staring out the window.  

“So,” Dean said, clearing his throat again, debating how to say what he wanted to, then laughing at himself; since when did he become the one wanting to talk? “I… you don’t gotta tell me anything, but. I thought, maybe, since it’s… since it’s just you ‘n me right now. I don’t know, Sam. You wanna maybe… anything you wanna say about Eileen?”  

When Sam didn’t answer, Dean risked a peek in his direction, catching the clench of his jaw and his scowl forward that said he didn’t want to talk about anything. But he was patient, knew Sam would need a few minutes to figure it out either way, and if he didn’t want to talk he’d hear a resounding no in a few seconds.  

“We were… it was new, but… it was good. You know?”  

Dean nodded, still glancing at the side of Sam’s face since he refused to look in his direction.  

“And we… it was good,” Sam repeated, sighing to himself, his gaze falling down to his own lap.  

“So,” Dean prompted after waiting another minute, “you two were… you were… working towards something, or—”  

“Were already something,” Sam amended for him, his shoulders slumping a little deeper.  

“But it was… I mean,” and he shifted, stalling for time as he thought his words out carefully, “Eileen was awesome. You know I liked Eileen a lot, right?”  

“But?” Sam prompted, his voice losing any kind of tone.  

“But we—you, never got to see her all that much. Right?”  

“We spoke all the time,” Sam replied, fairly curt, Dean added to himself, “we Skyped all the time; why’d you think I was always on YouTube learning ASL, huh?”  

“I know,” Dean agreed, “I’m not saying—I’m happy for you, man. I mean—I woulda been. I—”  

“I get it,” Sam cut him off, saving Dean from tripping over his own tongue.  

“So it was sort of… a long distance thing?” Dean prompted after another stretch of silence.  

“When she was working, and we were working, yeah."  

“But in between?”  

“Not like you and me spend every minute of our lives together anymore, Dean,” Sam snorted, and finally looked back at him with a smile. “How many weekends, or… I don’t know. Days off have we had when we barely even text? You doing… whatever it is you were doing, and I was… if Eileen was around, I was with her."  

Dean had a blast of memory then, one near-perfect day somewhere between Vince Vicente and Cas and Crowley going off on their road trip, when he’d convinced Cas to spend the day with him. They’d driven aimlessly, stopped for lunch at some crappy diner on the edge of a town he didn’t remember the name of. Played pool in a dimly lit dive bar for a couple of hours before begrudgingly heading back for the bunker.   

What they’d done together hadn’t mattered; the thrill of having Cas with him to himself for an entire day, even if there were so many unspoken things between them, was beyond anything for Dean at the time. How different would things now be, after agreeing to talk, after their kiss, after—  

“And where the hell did you think she stayed when she was at the bunker?” Sam protested, bringing Dean back as he laughed softly. “You see me making up a room for her?”  

Dean thought back to Eileen’s visit, and a hundred small things clicked into place. A flash of memory of Eileen walking past him in the middle of the night likely for the bathroom wearing Sam’s shirt. The softness of the two of them together over breakfast. The hug he’d seen but not really acknowledged, but when he thought about it went on longer and was a lot more intimate than perhaps just friends might be.  

“I’m… real sorry about Eileen, Sammy,” he said a little softer, his stomach knotting for Sam’s jaw trembling for a second before he could get control over it.  

“Yeah, well. Like I said. Don’t be finding the right time for Cas, when… when you don’t know what’s gonna happen,” Sam told him, sighing a little, his gaze back down on his fingers knotting and unknotting against his lap.  

“I—”  

“I should’ve known something was wrong,” Sam said then, lifting his head and glaring out the window, “I—she never didn’t answer messages as long as it’d been, and I… I thought maybe she was travelling, or… I don’t know. Something went wrong on the case she was on, and I kept calling but…”  

Sam sighed as his words faded away, and Dean wished he had words or ways to make things better for Sam, but knew he couldn’t. “I’m… sorry, Sammy."  

“Yeah, me too."  

“Maybe we should… I don’t know. Do some kinda memorial or—”  

“We’ll figure something out,” Sam agreed, clearly wanting to change the subject.   

“What… Where’d you think Claire would’ve taken Cas?” Dean asked, adamant with himself that he was not worrying about Claire getting lost somewhere, knowing neither of them would be any good at changing tires, checking oil. And what if they ran out of gas—  

“Not like there’s all that much near us,” Sam smiled, “maybe they’ll just… I don’t know. Drive around. Talk. Stop for coffee, or something."

“Not too much coffee,” Dean frowned, “he said he’s not sleeping all that good."  

“He’s just… it’s gonna take some time, I guess,” Sam shrugged, “we don’t know how—him being human now, we don’t know how long it’s gonna take him to adjust."  

“I guess."  

“You know he… he helped me, with ASL? For Eileen?” Sam said then, smiling wistfully to himself.  

“He did?” and Dean couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice. When had that happened?  

“Yeah,” Sam replied, “we… we Skyped a couple times so I could practice. When he was… in the evenings, when he was—”  

“With Crowley,” Dean finished for him with a huff.  

“Who also knew ASL and offered… less than polite suggestions of his own,” Sam added, screwing his face up in embarrassment. “Cas caught him, thankfully; I don’t know what he threatened Crowley with, didn’t even understand the language they were speaking in. But it had to be one of the only times I saw Crowley caught off guard and at a loss for words."  

Dean smiled to himself, wishing he’d seen that himself, sending out a silent thought for Crowley with a soft sigh, hoping wherever he’d found himself, he was as happy as he thought Crowley was capable of being.  

“I could eat,” Dean announced after another long stretch of silence, eyes sweeping over a sign for pancakes. Sam followed his gaze and nodded in agreement, and Dean gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, looking out for the next exit.  

***  

“Hey."  

Claire looked up from a book she’d been reading and greeted them both with a smile, slowly standing up.  

“Hey,” Dean said, coming to stand beside her, balancing the bags on the end of the library table, “where’s Cas?”  

“Sleeping,” Claire replied, rolling her eyes and smiling harder, “got tired. Kept tryna tell me he wasn’t, but… I’m not stupid."  

“Yeah, well, he’s still—he gets tired quick,” Dean said, nodding towards the kitchen for her to follow.  

“Juice?” Sam asked, pulling a bottle from one of their bags and shaking it at Claire.  

“Sure."  

“What’d you do?” Dean asked, half-turned from her to put their shopping away.  

“Drove for a while,” Claire shrugged, smiling. “Cas insisted on us stopping at this ice cream shop we passed."  

“Yeah, well,” Dean laughed to himself, leaning back against the counter, “probably just wants to try all the food he can get his hands on, now he can taste it."  

“That, and he’s got a sweet tooth,” Claire smiled, “he had like… six scoops, and all the toppings."  

“Maybe he was checking if his new card works,” Sam smiled, coming to perch on the edge of the table next to Claire.  

“He showed me his new driver’s license,” Claire said, rolling her eyes and laughing, “Cas Winchester?”  

“Got a problem with that?” Dean asked, immediately on the defensive.  

“Nope,” Claire replied, eyeing him with clear mischief over the top of her glass, “I just… assumed there’d be an event or something for us all to have to get dressed up for when he took your name."  

Dean shrank into himself, a protest dying on his tongue as a hard blush burnt its way up his neck and over his face.  

“I—”  

“They’re talking,” Sam told her, nudging into her side in joint mockery, “baby steps."  

“Maybe they can renew their vows in a couple years, then,” Claire shrugged, turning that wicked smile back on Dean.  

“Look—”  

“And seriously? Like, no rings, Dean?” Claire added in mock-disapproval.   

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam replied, nudging into Claire’s side again. “Think you oughta be treating my brother-in-law a little better, huh? Give the guy a ring at least."  

“Was there a honeymoon?” Claire stage whispered as she leaned back against Sam, eyes never leaving Dean.  

“If there was, it was here. And they were quiet,” Sam shrugged, his face the picture of innocence.  

Dean groaned out loud, covering his face with his hands and mumbling through them, “I hate you all."  

“Jody’ll kick your ass if you don’t do something more formal,” Claire pointed out, “and Donna… you heard her sing? She’ll happily sing you down the aisle."  

“I’m not hearing this,” Dean denied, spinning on his heel and pulling things together in preparation for their dinner later.  

“But you’re not denying it either,” Sam pointed out, and Dean had a moment of wishing the ground would open to swallow him.  

“Sam—”  

“Hey,” Sam said then in a louder stage whisper as Dean thought he heard him nudge his arm into Claire’s side, “you shoulda been there to give Cas away."  

“Yeah, well, you shoulda done the same for him,” Claire said, and Dean could feel her gesturing at him even with his back turned, “so we both got denied."  

“Guys—”  

“I’m just saying,” Claire said, and Dean turned to see her raising her hands in defense, “a little notice would’ve been nice. Coulda bought gifts. Got cake. Prepared speeches."  

“I’m… not talking about this,” Dean grumbled, turning away again, flinching at Sam’s teasing, uh huh, and attempting to change the subject as he worked.  

***  

“Hey, Cas."  

Dean’s heart gave an excited thud as Cas swung his door open to him, beckoning him to come inside.  

“Hi."  

“Did you, uh, did you sleep?” Dean asked, his hand up to the nape of his neck and squeezing as Cas closed the door behind him.  

“A little."  

“You feeling okay?”  

“I am,” Cas agreed, staring back at him for a few seconds then smiling harder and closing the gap between them, lifting his arms to drape over Dean’s shoulders.  

“Had a good time with Claire?” Dean asked, sinking into Cas’ warmth as he wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him closer.  

“Yes,” Cas nodded against him, “it was good to be able to spend the time with her."  

“Still here,” Dean pointed out, “got dinner together yet. And now you’re back, nothing stopping you visiting whenever you feel like. Go with you if you want."  

“I would like that,” Cas agreed, pulling back just enough for Dean’s hands to slip to grip his sides. And before he could second-guess it, Dean ducked a fraction for the briefest, sweetest of kisses, straightening back up to catch the way Cas’ face lit up for it.  

Not trusting himself not to do it again, and delay dinner long enough to have either Sam or Claire come looking for them in suspicion, Dean leaned in again for another quick kiss then forced himself to step back, giving a final squeeze around his waist.  

“How ‘bout you come out for dinner, huh?” he suggested, eyes darting out to the tablet at the foot of the bed. “You been playing your games?”  

“Yes,” Cas agreed, turning to pick up the tablet to show him, “last night. Though Claire found some more photos and shared them with me. I was looking at them just now."  

Dean first noticed the new screensaver of a starry sky, then watched Cas thumb through to his gallery, smiling at the few candid shots there, and wondering if between him and Sam they could come up with some more for him.  

“How come you picked this one, Cas?” he asked, nodding at the screen went it went back to the night sky picture.  

“It’s beautiful,” Cas shrugged. “When I was at the Gas N Sip, and I couldn’t sleep, sometimes I would go outside in the middle of the night to look at the stars."  

Dean forced back a grimace for hearing that, and made himself a promise to give Cas better memories of a starlit sky. Denying images of the Impala hood and just the two of them in the middle of nowhere staring up.  

“You, uh… you gonna come out for dinner, Cas?”  

Cas turned off the tablet, carefully closed its case as though it was delicate, then put it on the end of the bed and nodded, nudging against Dean’s arm. And they walked through the bunker together making idle conversation, though with secret smiles for one another that they hadn’t quite schooled in before arriving in the kitchen.  

“Aww…”  

Dean grit his teeth at Claire’s teasing, scowled in Sam’s direction for his accompanying snort, and braced for an evening of nothing but embarrassment. But as he crossed the room to check on dinner, the conversation behind them turned to how hungry they all were, and the noise of the table being laid, with Claire ignoring Cas’ complaints that she was a guest so didn’t need to help.  

“Dean’s mac ‘n cheese is awesome,” Sam enthused, and the sound of three people humming in agreement filled the kitchen as Dean slid the pan from the oven to put on the side. The chicken followed with another round of enthusiasm, and Dean fought hard to keep his shoulders from squaring in pride.   

“Sam had to put up with all kindsa crap I made,” he added, transferring the dishes to the table, pleased to see how everything was already laid out.  

“Yeah,” Sam huffed, “and I was an ungrateful brat for it half the time. Doesn’t mean I didn’t, or don’t appreciate it."  

“My Mom used to stand me on a chair when she was baking so I could help,” Claire smiled, holding out her plate for Dean to load up.  

“Angel buns,” Cas added in surprise, turning to receive her smile.  

“Yeah,” Claire agreed, “like… cupcakes, but with the frosting shaped into wings."  

Claire’s smile for Cas then was a mixture of amused and affectionate, and Dean watched it in silence as he plated up everyone’s food.  

“I think I remember Mom baking,” he said after everyone had started, accepting their praise with a dismissive wave and wide smile on his face. “Least; I remember her trying to bake."  

“You are very good at cooking,” Cas insisted.  

“I’ll second that,” Claire added, and Dean felt his cheeks flush.  

“Nothing special—”  

“I’m serious,” Claire smiled, “I mean, Jody’s awesome, but she’d eat a ton of this."  

“Could Jimmy cook?” Sam asked as though the thought had just occurred to him, fork paused halfway to his mouth.  

“Not well,” Cas said, caution in his voice and a quick darted look in Claire’s direction.  

“He could do basic stuff. Potatoes, pasta, that kinda thing."  

“The skill is… not residual,” Cas smiled, shaking his head, “there have not been many occasions that I have needed to cook, but I am sure it would be… just as simple dishes I could prepare."  

“I’ll show you a thing or two,” Dean said without thinking, flinching for Sam and Claire’s immediate snort of laughter.  

“Please; we’re eating,” Sam retorted, fighting and failing to keep the smile form his face.  

Cas’ gaze lingered over each of them in turn before turning back to his dinner and humming in appreciation, wondering out loud what kinds of things Dean could teach him to cook. And for the rest of the meal the conversation was easy, punctuated only a couple more times with teasing aimed at Dean—that Cas was entirely unaffected by.   

Dean joined in of course, unable to stop his eyes drifting over to Cas at times, but otherwise allowing himself to indulge in something as simple as a family dinner, his mind occasionally wandering to more of the same to come.  

***  

“Hey, Cas."   

Dean’s heart started fluttering the moment he heard the already-familiar rap on his door announcing Cas was on the other side of it.  

“Dean."  

Cas’ smile for him was warm, nodding when Dean pushed the door back and tilted his head for Cas to follow him in.   

“You like dinner tonight, Cas?” Dean asked as he closed the door and leaned back against it.  

“I did,” Cas agreed, as his eyes darted out around the room before coming to settle on him.  

“Thought you might’ve. You ate three plates."  

“I was hungry,” Cas smiled, his eyes lighting up, “and it was delicious. I think Claire wanted the recipe to take back to Jody."  

“I think Jody’d kick my ass in the kitchen any day,” Dean countered, shaking his head.  

“She is also exceptionally good at preparing a meal,” Cas agreed, “it will be interesting to be able to taste what she is offering me the next time I visit."  

“You come to wish me goodnight again, Cas?” Dean joked then, pushing away from the door and coming to a stop about a foot in front of him.  

“Perhaps not wish,” Cas suggested, hands already reaching out for him with more confidence than the previous evening, eyes very definitely on his lips.  

“Well okay then, Cas,” Dean smiled, hooking his elbows up over Cas’ shoulders and closing the gap between them, sighing his way into their kiss. And perhaps it was because this was their second real kiss, or perhaps it was because they were behind closed doors, but this kiss was a little deeper, a touch more exploring, chasing the angle of each other’s lips, with soft, unhurried hums falling from their mouths. Dean shifted his arms to allow his fingertips to fall to the back of Cas’ head, playing with his hair, smiling as Cas swirled his thumbs out over his sides, the growing stubble on his chin rubbing against his own and making him shuffle forward a little closer just for the feel of it, more than happy to watch Cas grow it out in experiment.   

Cas’ tongue darting against his lips had Dean gasp in a breath, opening up to him and whimpering a little at the slide of their tongues together in his mouth, the noise punching out of Cas’ leaving Dean thinking he’d probably have a little trouble sleeping for replaying it, trying to stop himself pressing up against Cas, but then huffing as Cas backed him up against the door and writhed against him.  

“Cas,” he whispered, with Cas snatching his mouth away to mouth a trail along his neck, sucking a little on his pulse point with an obvious smile against his skin as Dean trembled for it, then lifting his head to kiss him once again.   

“There are many, many things that I have wanted to do with, and to you, Dean,” Cas told him, his already-gravelly voice dropping another octave and very definitely stirring Dean harder in his jeans.  

“Same, Cas."  

“And there are many, many times that I have heard you want to do the same with me." Cas continued, nosing at his jaw so Dean would know to turn his head away, returning to mouthing over his neck.  

“Cas—”  

“I think perhaps that is something I will miss,” Cas told him, nipping at his earlobe, “not being able to hear those thoughts you had about me, though would never attempt to do anything about."  

“I was stupid, Cas,” Dean called out, slotting his hands into Cas’ jean pockets and tugging him closer, “so stupid—”  

“We are both guilty of that,” Cas smiled, nosing at his cheek before brushing their lips together, “though we are also both here now. It will be… good, to work this out, together, instead of feeling… alone in those thoughts—despite all that I used to hear from you."  

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean whispered, wrapping his arms around his waist and groaning softly as Cas dropped his head into his neck, sighing there.  

“As am I. But we can… we will, do something about this,” and Cas lifted his head to smile at him, still appearing tired but also with bright, pleased eyes staring back at him.  

“We will. We are, Cas,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of his head, luxuriating in the feel of him in his arms. “It won’t be easy, but—”  

“But I cannot go through… that again. The not knowing, the… second-guessing. The constant… I don’t want to feel like that again, Dean. Not with you."  

“You won’t,” Dean promised him, raising his hand to cup his cheek and staring him in the eye pleading him to listen, “you won’t, Cas. We’ll… I’m not losing you again either."  

Cas lifted his hand to slot his fingers through Dean’s for a second then kissed him sweetly again, and stepped back with a sigh. “I should sleep."  

“You should,” Dean agreed quickly, though reaching out to snag their fingers together again and squeezing, “you should, Cas. But tomorrow. When Claire’s gone, and we’ve… maybe we can take some time together and… not talk about everything, obviously, but… we should talk."  

“We will,” Cas replied, leaning in for another kiss and lingering there for a few seconds before pulling away again with a tired smile.   

“I hope you sleep,” Dean whispered, ducking just a fraction to kiss at his temple, with Cas smiling at the gesture and squeezing his fingers again. Asking Cas to stay on the tip of his tongue.  

“As do I,” he agreed, “and I hope that you sleep too."  

“Night Cas,” Dean said, opening the door for him and arguing with himself not to invite him to stay.  

“Goodnight, Dean."  

***  

 


	9. Chapter 9

“You know, Dean, it’s only been a few days, but I… I think… I know, things are going to be okay."  

Dean smiled, not sure how he was supposed to answer, or even exactly what Cas was referring to, but squeezed his arm quick around Cas’ waist and avoided eye contact with Sam for doing it as the three of them watched Claire’s Honda disappear into the distance.  

“I mean… now that I am human,” Cas amended, nudging into his side and smiling, and leaving Dean wondering if Cas was now reading his expressions just as clearly as he had once read his mind.  

“That’s… that’s good, Cas."  

“I think so,” Cas agreed, smiling, “there are… numerous things that I am sure will be… challenging—”  

“Like that chin of yours,” Dean winked, reaching out and squeezing his jaw softly between his finger and thumb, shoulders tensing up for Sam’s snort to his side. Then silently amending the whole stubble thing was more of a challenge for him, for how distracting it might get.   

“But I… I think that things will be okay,” Cas continued, and if the slight blush flaring in his cheeks didn’t make Dean’s stomach do ridiculous cartwheels. He allowed himself to stare for a couple of seconds then turned his gaze back to the road, concentrating on the swirls of dust Claire’s car stirred up.  

“And you know you can ask; anything and everything, Cas. Nothing’s stupid, nothing’s too much; you gotta… you can ask me—and Sam, of course—anything you want. Anything you need. Okay, Cas?”  

“I know, Dean."  

“We, uh… we got you some stuff yesterday, to maybe give you a little energy,” Sam added, coming to stand a little closer then nodding towards the door for them to go back inside.  

“Energy?”  

“You’ve been tired,” Sam explained, gesturing for Dean and Cas to go in first then closing the door behind them, ushering Cas to follow.  

“And you think I need more… energy,” Cas said, sounding doubtful.   

“You will do,” Sam muttered. Dean’s jaw clenched hard at Sam’s deliberate lingering look between the two of them that turned into a wicked smirk, and his scowl just had Sam spluttering with laughter.  

“Yeah, Cas."  

“What do you suggest?” Cas asked, that doubt shifting to mistrust bordering on petulant, which had Dean clasping him around the shoulder in glee and leaning against the counters ready to watch events unfold. Which was cruel, he knew, since he was the one who’d suggested Cas might need a little fortification in the first place, but he couldn’t resist.  

“Well,” Sam said, reaching into an overhead cupboard and dragging out a bag, “snacking on this won’t be a bad start."  

“Trail mix?” Cas said, pinching the bag in the corner and raising it to inspect, darting a quick glance in Dean’s direction, and in receiving his discreet nod of approval, carefully tearing the bag open and taking a handful, then chewing a mouthful in thought. “This tastes good."  

“And goji berries are great for all kindsa things,” Sam continued, dragging another bag from the cupboard and sliding it along the counter in front of Cas.  

“Like what?”  

“Increasing energy. Enhancing the release of hormones. Dealing with stress,” Sam shrugged. Dean winced at the last one hoping Cas wouldn’t take offence, but saw his expression remain neutral.  

“That sounds good, Sam."  

“And also,” Sam added, turning away, but not before Dean caught the glint in his eye, “apparently, goji berries are great for, uh… increasing blood flow. To, uh… all your… uh huh."  

Cas narrowed his eyes at the back of Sam’s head, then turned his gaze to Dean and raised an eyebrow. Dean held perfectly still as Cas’ gaze lingered over his flaming cheeks, then found himself stuttering when Cas winked at him.  

“That is very thoughtful of you, Sam. Thank you. I will let you know how effective they are for that when—”  

“Woah,” Sam spluttered, spinning around and the glint in his eye replaced with slight horror, “no."  

Cas’ eyebrow inched up a fraction, staring back at Sam until his face screwed up in contrition, and he waved a dismissive hand before turning back round.  

“I thought about maybe getting you some Fiber One, or All Bran Buds, or something, ‘cos that kind of cereal’s great for giving you energy in the morning,” Sam added, still rummaging through the cupboards and pointedly not looking around a second time.  

“You mean, the cereal that you tried to make me eat in that hotel in Omaha that tasted like the ugliest molecules I think I have ever been exposed to?” Cas countered with a huff; Dean watched Sam’s shoulders slump, then as he turned to wince at Cas with one eye screwed up tight.  

“You’re still complaining about that? Dude, it was years ago."  

“And I can still taste it all these years later,” Cas replied dryly, arching an eyebrow.  

Sam’s hands flew up in defense and he spun away from the counter again laughing. Dean tried to wrack his brains for the memory but came up with nothing, and instead of that jealousy that had been flaring through him the past couple of days, Dean was pleased to hear there was more to learn about things Sam and Cas had shared. And pleased with himself for not being so selfish.  

“Anyway,” Sam said, clearing his throat as he opened the fridge, “I’d say only have these if you’re really tired,” and Cas stepped closer, eyeing the can of Monster pushed into his left hand and the Red Bull into his right, and pursed his lips.   

“Why?”  

“Remember when we went to that iHop and there was that kid's party?” Sam asked, one hand still wrapped around the fridge door.  

“With the… the altercation with the toy pistol and the chicken nuggets?”  

“No?” Sam snorted, raising an eyebrow at Dean. Dean held his hands up in defense.  

“What? Kid got all rowdy stealing from another kid’s plate. You know I hate stuff like that."  

“Dean… assisted,” Cas added, looking over to smile at him fondly, and immediately Dean’s hand was at the nape of his neck and squeezing, trying to look elsewhere.  

“Yeah,” Sam huffed, looking between the two of them, “I wasn’t there for that one. The party with all the little witches and wizards—”  

“With the wand that was snapped and almost got lost in an ear,” Cas finished for him, understanding creeping across his face, vaguely waving an arm still holding on to the Red Bull, and adding, “Avada Kedarva."  

“Davra. Avada Kedavra,” Dean corrected immediately, head thrown back in laughter a second later when Cas pretended—terribly— to stagger and collapse.  

“Yeah,” Sam huffed, staring between the two of them in increasing bewilderment, “that time. And I kind of meant, all the kids running round on a sugar high. These,” he added, nodding towards the drinks, “are like that in a can."  

“Emergency measures, only,” Cas nodded solemnly, inspecting the cans a little closer then pushing them back into Sam’s hands.  

“And maybe you could try something like oatmeal for breakfast. Sprinkle in some of those goji berries. Maybe some other stuff; I got a bunch of dried fruit and nuts. And there’s honey, maple syrup, all kindsa stuff you can try."  

“Crowley liked oatmeal,” Cas said, turning back with Sam as he closed the fridge, “or _porridge_ , as he insisted on calling it. Every morning he insisted we stop for breakfast, and I had to endure a lecture on the correct way to stir oatmeal so it didn’t spoil, or attract trouble. Although he did once suggest stirring it the other way in an attempt to summon Lucifer since we were looking for him, but… it was unsuccessful."  

Dean snorted at Cas’ memory, having a very vague recollection of a similar conversation with Crowley himself; muted by a hangover, of course.   

“Well if Crowley could eat oatmeal for breakfast, then I’d say you can too,” Sam shrugged, smiling.  

“Can I have it with bacon?” Cas asked, making Sam roll his eyes as he moved to lean against the table.  

“Gross."  

“If I can have maple syrup with both oatmeal and bacon, it follows that I can have all three together,” Cas reasoned, coming to lean on the counter by Dean’s side. Sam raised his eyes to glare at Dean with a silent look that said, this is your fault, then slapped his hands down hard on his thighs.  

“It’s your breakfast, Cas. Do whatever you want."  

“We just ate, Sam,” Cas replied with a serene smile on his face that Dean fought not to laugh at, “perhaps tomorrow."  

“Yeah, whatever,” Sam huffed, “so. What are you doing now? Games again?”  

“Not now,” Cas replied, shaking his head and smiling.  

“What’re you playing now?” Dean asked, nudging against his arm.  

“Candy Crush."  

“How’s it going?”  

“Good."  

“Yeah,” Sam snorted, “thanks for installing that for him, Dean."  

“Huh?”  

“It’s not you he’s messaging when I’m trying to sleep asking how to level up."  

Dean thought about Cas messaging Sam in the middle of the night for game advice. Then thought about Cas visiting him before sleeping to kiss him goodnight, and smiled to himself, smirking at Sam.  

“I need to clean Claire’s room,” Cas announced then, pushing away from the counter.  

“I can do that, Cas,” Dean immediately protested, knocking the back of his hand against his stomach.  

“I am more than capable of cleaning a room, Dean,” Cas smiled, looking down at his hand then back up at his face.  

“I know,” Dean agreed, “but you’re supposed to be resting. You don’t gotta—”  

“I want to,” Cas told him, “and besides. Claire will not have made very much mess. She was always a tidy child when she was younger. Jimmy had fond memories of her bedroom, even her doll’s house, being meticulous."  

Dean smiled at the thought of that, and nodded. “All pink and princesses, huh?” he laughed, trying to picture Claire in such a setting.  

“Once, yes,” Cas agreed appearing wistful. “Once, the only things Claire wished for were a princess-themed birthday party, and a cat,” and Dean had no idea what to make of that but wanted to take the sadness from Cas’ eyes.  

“You know, Cas. You’ve just got—”  

“I know I have just got here, Dean,” Cas smiled, cutting him off, “but if this is my home now—”  

“It is your home, Cas,” Dean urged, not knowing how many times he’d have to say it for Cas to know the truth of it—or for himself to accept Cas wasn’t going anywhere.   

“Then I should contribute. I want to contribute. And I must… adapt, adjust… learn what it is to be human once again; permanently this time."  

“So this is you… this is kind of your way of saying… accepting you’re staying, without question?” Dean asked, his heart hammering for it and both screaming at himself for being selfish, and pleading with Cas to want to stay. The thought that Cas might decide to try and find a way back to becoming an angel—and leave him again—he’d tried not to acknowledge he’d even been thinking.   

Cas’ smile for him was soft, and understanding, though also with a hint of tease. “I was just offering to clean; nothing so profound. But yes, Dean. I am staying,” he said quietly, coming back to him from where he’d been beginning to head to Claire’s room. “I am not fighting this. I am… I think this is the right place for me to be. The right thing for me to do. If I am honest, perhaps this is something I have wanted, for… a while."  

“To be human?” Dean huffed, not daring to believe it, ignoring the sympathetic looks Sam was shooting him over Cas’ shoulder. “To live out your life doing all this mundane… stuff, when you could do—you used to do, all this other stuff?”  

“I feel like I belong here, Dean,” Cas said, even softer as he crowded closer to him, “not just for you, but for me. I feel comfortable in the… limitations of humanity. I want to—there are so many things I could not experience fully as an angel, that I can now. Following my own path, making my own decisions—”  

“But when you were at the Gas N Sip—”  

“That was a situation forced on me,” Cas smiled, shaking his head.  

“Cas… it’s not… it’s not much different now. You didn’t get much choice in this either."  

“But things are different now,” Cas insisted, even softer, and reaching out to squeeze his arm, “I am different. If I had been given this choice, this is what I would have chosen. I… I know that I am not alone this time, Dean. And I… the hope I felt when I was human before, initially, once I got to you, I… things are different now."  

“I’m different now,” Dean told him, pleading in his voice for Cas to understand him, “I wouldn’t… I won’t ever forgive myself for that—”  

“Well, you should. I forgave you—”  

“Maybe you shouldn't have,” Dean sighed, closing his eyes for a second, though the image of Cas’ face when he’d told him to leave taunted him there, making him snap his eyes open again.  

“That is my choice. I choose to understand. I would have… preferred things to be different. It was… more difficult than I… than many things I have faced. But I… it was a valuable experience, and I… things are different now. Aren’t they?”  

“They are, Cas,” Dean told him, reaching out to cup his face quickly before sliding his fingers away, “I can’t stand the thought of you being anywhere but here with me. I can’t… I can’t be without you, not now."  

Cas stared back at him hard then, and Dean lost himself to it, sure he could remember every similar silent conversation between them that centered around him saying, don’t leave me, and Cas saying, ask me to stay.  

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean,” Cas told him, sliding his hand down Dean’s arm to squeeze his hand.  

An awkward, deliberate clearing of a throat brought Dean’s attention back to realizing Sam was still there in the kitchen with them, and though his stomach dropped for the openness of their conversation in front of him, he couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed by a single word.  

“Well, good,” he replied, squeezing Cas’ hand back again before he could withdraw it, then pulling until he came back to rest against the counter by his side. “Sam, help me out here."  

“Huh?” and Sam’s startled look was hilarious, his eyes darting between the pair of them looking both lost and out of place.  

“With the chores thing."  

“Oh."  

“I’m just saying, Cas,” Dean said, raising his hands, “you don’t gotta rush into doing any o’ that stuff—or anything."  

“I’m with Dean on that,” Sam nodded, and Dean hid his smile for the indignant way Cas huffed beside him.  

“Of course you are,” Cas huffed, rolling his eyes at them both.  

“We just do stuff when it’s needed anyway,” Sam added, “not like we’ve got a set list of chores going on around here."  

Dean bit back a retort that sometimes he’d like a scheduled chore list for the mess Sam left everywhere, but nodded. “Besides. There’s all kindsa more interesting human stuff for you to get to grips with than housework."  

“Cleaning is not something I will require any instruction on,” Cas retorted, nudging against his arm.  

“I know,” Dean replied quickly, catching the indignance on Cas’ face and wanting to fight it off, “I’m just saying. All in good time."  

"I kept the Gas N Sip in excellent condition, Dean; I am more than capable of keeping our floors and surfaces clean."  

“And if you wanna clean, clean,” Dean countered, holding his hands up in defense, “I’m just saying—”  

“I don’t have to. Not yet. When I’m ready,” Cas finished for him in, what Dean thought, was a terrible impersonation of him.  

“I—”  

“I’m going to clean Claire’s room,” Cas announced again, stretching a little and beginning to turn away.  

“Cas—”  

But Dean was cut off once more, this time by Cas turning back to him, dropping his forehead on to his shoulder and groaning in exasperation, then straightening up to grin at him, and walking away without another word.  

Dean watched him leave, a protest dying on his lips, aware of Sam’s shoulders trembling in laughter out the corner of his eye, and turning to him with a scowl.  

“Stop."  

“Didn’t say a word."   

“Yeah,” Dean huffed, “well, you didn’t need to."  

“Good luck,” Sam snorted, pushing himself up from the table and turning away himself.  

Dean turned his eyes to the ceiling for a second then stared around the now-empty kitchen, and smiled.  

***  

“You should have told me you were concerned that I might leave, Dean."  

Dean took a sip of the coffee Cas had just brought him as he took a break from an unnecessary cleaning of the Impala, and darted a cautious glance at him over the lip of his mug.  

“I didn’t… maybe I didn’t know how."  

Cas sighed, taking his own sip of coffee before nodding, but staring back at him without saying another word.  

“I… it’s barely been… you’ve been here days, Cas. I didn’t wanna… I don’t know. Overwhelm you, or something, with all the stuff I’ve been thinking about."  

“Yet you keep suggesting that should I need to talk, that you are willing to listen,” Cas countered, smiling in gentle exasperation and taking a step closer.  

“I did. And that’s different,” Dean countered with a dismissive wave of his arm. Cas’ huff in response said he didn’t agree, but then he was stepping closer still and nuzzling his way into Dean’s neck, pressing him back against the side of the Impala and humming in approval as Dean wrapped an arm around him. Dean closed his eyes and pulled Cas tight to him, huffing in complaint when Cas pulled away to sip at his coffee with a smile.   

“She is beautiful, Dean,” Cas announced, stepping back a little more to glance over the Impala, his lips turned up into an affectionate smile. Dean preened at his words, pushing away to stand upright and gesturing for Cas to follow.  

“Thought I’d treat her to some wax,” and Dean stood back to admire his own handiwork, taking in the gleam reflecting the overhead lighting and nodding to himself for a job well done.  

“Are you finished?”  

“Uh… yeah,” Dean agreed, “just about. Why? You need something, Cas?”  

“A shower,” Cas laughed, “once I finished cleaning Claire’s room, Sam and I moved the desk in there to give it more space. For when she—or anyone else, comes to visit. And then we looked through that pile of books you suggested I might like for the bookcase in my room, then decided to move that around a little as well."  

“You okay, Cas?” Dean asked, stepping forward and cupping his cheek, debating with himself if Cas looked more tired or if he was just imagining it.  

“I am. But I would now like a shower."  

“I—”  

“That I would like you to join me for,” Cas added, making Dean’s stomach ripple just for the thought of.  

“Uh…”  

“Only if you would like, of course,” Cas said then, the tiniest amount of doubt on his face. Dean surged forward for a kiss to reassure him.  

“Hell, yeah,” Dean mumbled against his lips, feeling them curving up into a smile, “I mean. I have been working on her for a while. Could do with a shower myself."  

“Exactly,” Cas agreed, “it will be practical to… share,” though the look he was giving him was anything but thinking how practical a shared shower might be.  

Any retort Dean wanted to make came out as a dry cough that Cas smirked at, leaned forward to kiss him quickly, then slipped Dean’s mug from his fingers and turned on his heel, leaving Dean to stare after him for a few seconds before following him inside.  

Dean loitered uncertainly as Cas returned their mugs to the kitchen, standing outside the bathroom door telling himself he wasn’t nervous, wasn’t suddenly fearing what Cas might make of the way he looked. But Cas’ smile for him was reassuring, with Cas leaning in for another quick kiss before snagging his fingers through Dean’s to tug him into the bathroom.  

“I like the shower gel you bought me,” Cas announced, already kicking off his shoes and bending to remove his socks.  

“G—good,” Dean replied, staring at the curve of his back for a second before clearing his throat and doing the same. “I, uh… thought you might like it,” though didn’t add he’d endured Sam mocking him for a good half hour for taking so long to choose him a few toiletries.  

“I found that shampoo you told me about. Of Sam’s,” Cas added with a smile as he shrugged out of his sweater and t-shirt—Dean’s sweater and t-shirt, in one go. Dean tried to force his eyes elsewhere, but Cas caught him looking, and with a pleased smile sauntered towards him, fingertips beneath the hem of Dean’s t-shirt and sliding up his chest, pulling the shirt over his head without hesitating then dropping his eyes to glance over Dean as well.  

“I, uh… damn you look good, Cas,” Dean managed to stammer out, eyes lingering over taut lines of muscle and that tattoo, his fingers twitching down by his side with the urge to reach out and touch.  

“As do you,” Cas replied softly, the appreciative look he was giving him preventing Dean from crossing his arms over his chest or trying to suck his stomach in, and instead trembling for the warm fingertips pressing into his skin. “Dean—”  

But Dean cut him off with a hard, claiming kiss before he could second-guess himself, hands sweeping up over his back then over his chest with a small step back before stumbling forward, and groaning at the contact of their skin together. Cas’ hands explored just as much, greedily sweeping in arcs up his back, slotting between them and circling his palms over Dean’s nipples, smiling against his mouth as he answered with a soft groan.  

Fingers clawed at belt buckles, snagged buttons open and pulled flies down, and then they were both holding each other up and stumbling as they kicked their way out their jeans and boxers, then pressing hard together once again with nothing between them, grateful moans punching from both their mouths. Cas’ hands spread wide over his ass, and the hum against his mouth Dean thought was an appreciative one, not hesitating to do the same.  

“You feel good, Dean,” Cas growled out, backing him into the shower straight against the wall and writhing against him just as he had done against Dean’s bedroom door. Only now, with nothing between them, it was that much easier to feel the way they were both stirring, and that knocking together as they hardened punched further moans from their mouths.  

“Cas,” Dean managed to cry out, but his head was thumping hard against the shower wall as Cas ducked to suck and mouth along his neck, his hands swept down his thighs then up over his sides and chest, and then he was stepping back with his hands braced against the wall either side of him, lingering a heat-filled gaze over him, drinking him in.  

“Just as beautiful as you have always been to me, Dean,” he said, his voice little more than a growl, before fumbling out to the side to turn the shower on, then crowding up against him again.  

Cas’ skin wet from the shower beneath his palms was incendiary, with Dean pushing back against him bodily and spinning him so Cas was then against the wall. Cas smiled in invitation, and Dean had to touch, his hands sweeping up over his chest in exploration then down to squeeze over his thighs, groaning for the solid muscle there—better than anything he’d been imagining, and confirming exactly what he’d thought he’d been seeing for all those years.  

“So hot."  

“The shower is a little warm,” Cas agreed with a smile, arching his back against the wall and making Dean step back a touch, more than happy to admire the view.  

“You come back with extra sass installed, Cas?” Dean laughed, pressing his palm wide against his sternum and relishing in the feel of all that skin beneath it as he slowly slid his hand down his chest.  

Cas answered only with another smile, then reached out an almost-lazy hand to wrap around Dean’s length, laughing soundlessly as Dean’s head fell forward once again with a moan. Dean stared down between them, watching Cas’ hand on him as he thickened, licked his lips as Cas’ cock jolted and rose without even being touched, then reached out himself, closing his eyes to the filthy groan punching from Cas’ mouth just for feeling his fingers on him.  

Bracing himself on one hand against the wall Dean pushed back a little, eyes down watching them stroke and explore each other, then up again and leaning in for a kiss, humming as Cas chased his tongue, and swirled his thumb up over his head.   

“You know how many times I thought about you like this?” Dean managed to blast out in a hoarse whisper when he pulled back, with Cas staring back at him through hooded eyes, his lips parted in an oh when Dean changed his grip and stroked him a little harder.  

“Many,” Cas smiled, humming, “multiple. Have you any idea how distracting you were, Dean, thinking about me like this when I was doing… anything else."  

“Wanted you,” Dean bit back, widening his stance a little and groaning at the surge of heat in his gut for Cas quickening his pace, “always wanted you. Thought about you right here, too,” he added, making his name punch from Cas’ mouth desperately, gasping out for the hard kiss he followed with in answer.  

Dean stuttered his name out once more before shifting to take them both in his hand, whimpering when Cas’ fingers slotted in the gaps between his own, and together they set a brutal pace, kissing in between gasps for how good it felt. And Dean knew they wouldn’t last, knew that overdue feeling he had himself Cas shared as well; the thought of everything they would now do together had Dean rolling himself through their tight grip harder, and after just another couple of thrusts he was coming, with Cas following seconds later, groaning and leaning his head back against the wall as he panted.  

They were pressed so tightly together that the mess they’d made of each other’s chests was still visible when Dean pulled back, watching the shower spray wash it away with a soft groan. And when he looked up again, the affectionate, awe-filled smile Cas was giving invited nothing but a slow kiss, with Dean closing his eyes as Cas swept sleepy hands up over his back and pulled him closer again.  

“You okay there, Cas?” Dean asked, kissing it into his neck as he dropped his face there, smiling at the feel of Cas nodding against him.  

“I am."  

“This what you had in mind when you wanted us to come for a shower?”  

“It is exactly what I had in mind,” Cas smiled as Dean lifted his head to look at him, then raised his arms to hook over Dean’s shoulders, tilting his chin up in silent request for another kiss.   

They took their time to wash each other clean, exploring marks, and scars, and sweeping appreciative glances over one another until their smiles couldn’t be wider, and Cas made a comment about using all the hot water up. And that unhurried feeling between them continued as they dried each other off, towels abandoned to hooks on the wall behind them as they wrapped up in each other’s arms.  

“You, uh… you wanna come to my room, Cas?” Dean asked eventually when Cas shivered, cursing at himself for how ridiculously shy he felt for even asking, and wanting to get Cas out of the cold.  

“I would like that,” Cas agreed, beaming at him.  

“Uh…” Dean stuttered then, looking between them, “maybe we should’ve got a change of clothes or something,” debating putting on the jeans and t-shirt he’d been in to clean the Impala.  

“I am sure these will suffice,” Cas shrugged, taking what Dean thought was a deliberately long time to wrap a towel around his waist, then holding out another gesturing for Dean to do the same. Dean made a silent plea to Sam to be in his room, anticipating yet not ready for another round of teasing; especially if he saw the two of them walking through the bunker together half-naked.  

“Well, okay then, Cas,” and Dean slung the held-out towel around his hips, scooping up his clothes and following Cas as he padded out the bathroom.   

Dean’s stomach gave an awkward twist of excitement when the moment he’d closed his bedroom door behind them, Cas draped his towel over the chair without a care in the world, then made his way around the side of the bed, slung back the comforter, and climbed right in without hesitation. Dean had to swallow a couple of times to chase away the dryness in his mouth, then did his best to nonchalantly do the same, dropping the clothes that would need laundering to the floor and keeping his eyes everywhere but on Cas’ face, even though he could feel him watching as he too slid into bed.  

“I was cold,” Cas explained with a wicked grin, wriggling closer and meeting Dean in the middle, leaning in for a soft kiss then settling his arm around his waist. Dean splayed his fingers wide against Cas’ hip, tugging him a little closer and ducking in for a second kiss, then huffing to himself and laughing.  

“So this is all about warming up through shared body heat and all that, huh, Cas?”  

“I wanted to feel you,” Cas replied, sweeping his hand up Dean’s chest, then around to rest on his back so their chests bumped together on every exhale. The honesty of his words froze Dean’s tongue for a moment, not knowing how to respond.  

“I’m… all yours, Cas."  

“I know,” Cas agreed, kissing him once more with a triumphant smile, and for another few moments they lost themselves to staring at one another, with Dean’s heart fluttering, and a repeated, is this even real? playing on his mind.  

“I… kinda can’t believe you’re here, Cas,” Dean whispered, and Cas rolled forward on hearing it to kiss him softly, then pulled back, tangling their fingers together between them against the bed.  

“I assure you, Dean, I am. And I will… I have no intention to be elsewhere."  

“Well, good,” Dean agreed, leaning in for another kiss, smiling at how easy that was between them already.  

“Since you are being so honest with me, perhaps I can share something with you that has been… with me, more than anything else, for the past couple of days,” Cas added, frowning slightly to himself.  

“I’m all ears, Cas. Always,” Dean promised, squeezing his hand in reassurance and settling back against the pillow, waiting for Cas to talk. Cas sucked in a breath as though debating where to start, and Dean told himself to be patient.  

“I am human now, Dean,” Cas said after a while, showing Dean first his creased forehead as he frowned, and then the doubt in his eyes as he lifted his head.  

“Yeah,” Dean huffed, “I’d kinda noticed that,” earning himself a small smile and an eye roll.  

“And I know I have not experienced everything there is to experience about being human,” Cas added, squeezing Dean’s hand, “but I… I cannot help think of Jimmy."  

“Jimmy?”  

“Yes,” Cas nodded.  

“In what way?”  

“This life I have now. This existence; none of it would be possible without Jimmy. I have… stolen his life, Dean. I sometimes I feel—especially now, that I have stolen his life."  

“He… wanted to be your vessel, Cas,” Dean told him shifting a little closer and ducking so Cas would look him in the eye, “he volunteered. All that time ago, he volunteered to let you… you know."  

“Use him,” Cas finished for him, sighing hard.   

“It was… it was his choice, Cas."  

“I presented him with the choice."  

“Still his choice."  

“I would not be here without him, Dean."  

“No, you wouldn’t,” Dean agreed, leaning in to kiss him, “and for that, I’m always gonna be grateful to Jimmy. But you gotta… Cas. Jimmy died. You died, so many times. And every time you’ve come back, you’ve come back like this. In this body; it’s yours. There’s no one in here but you."  

“I know,” Cas agreed, smiling back at him, “but it is more… it is not this body, as you say; this has been rebuilt so many times that I… the guilt I once felt for taking that from him is… gone. It is everything else."  

“Everything else?”  

“Yes,” Cas replied, leaning in for a kiss himself.  

“Like?”  

“Like,” Cas sighed, “by using him as a vessel; that got him killed, Dean. I stole his life, quite literally."  

“Cas—”  

“I lost him his family. His daughter; he never got to see the wonderful young woman Claire has grown into being, Dean. I have a relationship with his daughter that is… I love Claire. I feel responsible for her, want to know she is happy; in some ways, I feel I have adopted the role as a father figure for Claire. Not one that is particularly good at advice,” Cas added to himself with a soft smile.  

“Claire loves you too,” Dean tried to assure him, untangling their fingers and wrapping his arm around Cas’ waist.  

“I know,” Cas agreed, “Claire once told me that she no longer sees her father when she looks at me, but only sees me."  

“That’s… that’s a good thing, Cas."  

“I stole fatherhood from Jimmy, Dean,” Cas sighed, closing his eyes and dropping his forehead against Dean’s, “I stole the opportunity he had to watch Claire thrive. I took… I took his future, his hopes, his dreams; Jimmy is not here with me now, Dean, but his memories are here always."  

“Then you’re… you’re sort of keeping his memory alive, Cas,” Dean tried to reason with him, but having no way of truly understanding Cas’ experience with Jimmy, or what he was feeling as a result.  

“If he had never met me, he would have… sometimes I wonder what Jimmy Novak’s life would be now. If he would have earned the promotion he was working towards when we met. If Amelia and Jimmy would have had a second child. Moved to a new house. Got a pet. If Claire would have gone to college, if Jimmy would have completed the marathon he always thought about taking part in but always put off because he put the needs and wants of others first. So many things, Dean. So many things."  

“So you… regret it? All of it?” Dean asked, and for the second time that day cursed himself for being selfish when it came to Cas. Cas pulled back to stare at him, eyes flitting over his face, and his own expression shifting into a smile.  

“No, Dean,” he said, without warning rolling Dean onto his back and straddling him, “no. I do not regret that."  

“‘Cos if you do,” Dean continued, sliding his hands down Cas’ back to grip around his waist, luxuriating in the feel of them pressed together and all that bare skin beneath his palm, “it’s like you… everything that’s happened ‘tween us these past… years, Cas. It’s like you’re… writing ‘em all off."  

“I do not regret my decisions regarding Jimmy. My choices involving humanity. Dean; I am happy to be here with you,” Cas urged, leaning down to kiss him and silencing any retort Dean had been trying to form into words.  

“Then what’re you saying, Cas?” Dean asked once Cas had pulled back, their breath coming out sharp for the force of their kiss.  

“Only that I have been thinking of Jimmy a lot these past few days,” Cas sighed, nuzzling against him, “only that I… I am so grateful to Jimmy, for all I have because of him, that I wish there was… something I could do for him."  

“Claire—”  

“Caring for Claire is not because of Jimmy,” Cas smiled, kissing him softly again, “I care about Claire because I care about her. Initially there was… duty. And guilt for depriving her of a father, but I have grown to care for and respect Claire separately from that."  

“That’s… that’s good, Cas,” Dean replied, stuck for what to say.  

“I only meant, I have been thinking of Jimmy. That being human this time—for the last time, has made me appreciate so much more of his sacrifice. There are… causes. Charities he was interested in; in my lifetime, I would like to find a way to contribute to those on his behalf. There is little else I can do for him now."  

“I think he’d like that, Cas,” Dean smiled, his heart surging a little for the thought of Cas being so thoughtful, “and… if I can help you with that in some way, you just gotta… you just gotta let me know. Okay?”   

“Thank you."  

“Stop saying thank you,” Dean huffed, and without warning flipping Cas back over to pin beneath him, kissing him harder, giving a slow stir of his hips and humming at Cas’ answering arch beneath him. Dean distracted himself from the whispers in his head by focusing on the feel of Cas, the mold of Cas’ lips against his own. He tucked his hands under the pillow and spread his knees a little for balance, groaning softly for Cas splaying his legs wider, and the wide sweep of his hands down his back that came to rest on his ass.  

In no hurry, and with no intention of progressing things further, Dean luxuriated in the feel of Cas beneath him, his skin against his, Cas’ breath hot over his neck as he bent to nuzzle into him, and the chase of his lips that was both new and felt long-practiced. Cas’ smile for him when they pulled apart had Dean’s stomach flipping, calling him to lean back in and kiss him all over again. And Dean lost track of time, indulged in thinking about nothing but what was happening there in his bed; intimacy he’d not even dreamt up in all his imaginings of being with Cas.  

But those whispers grew louder, and the urge to share everything with Cas became a voice that refused to be ignored. And soon even Cas’ kisses proved not to be distracting enough, with Dean pulling back with a panting gasp to stare at him, then tumbling forward, tucking his face into his neck and huddling as close as possible.  

“Dean?”  

Cas’ gentle sweep up over his back had Dean closing his eyes, mouthing along his neck where he could get to, tucking into him closer still.

“Dean? Are you okay?”  

The worry in Cas’ voice surged further guilt through Dean, and he couldn’t justify losing himself in being with Cas as the reason for not talking to him properly.  

“Cas,” he urged, pressing a long kiss to his jaw and sighing there, then kneeling up, swiping his hands down Cas’ chest and thighs as he went.  

“What is it?”  

Dean slumped a little, raising his hands up in the air for Cas to reach up and slot through, then swirling his thumb over the back of Cas’ as he tried to find a path through the difficult words he had to get out.  

“Cas,” he whispered, and Cas’ eyes grew wider in alarm, struggling then sitting up himself and settling Dean on his lap.  

“What is it?”  

“It’s nothing bad, Cas,” Dean promised, hooking his elbows over Cas’ shoulders and leaning in to kiss him. Because it wasn’t anything bad; but this was about the most exposing conversation Dean thought he’d ever had to gear himself up for. Even if the look on Cas’ face was nothing but encouraging, and Dean could already half-guess his reaction would be a positive one.  

“We need to talk, Cas,” he whispered, leaning into kiss him, and taking a moment pressed against his forehead as he found his courage, then pulled back to look at him again.  

“We do,” Cas agreed, and the confusion on his face made Dean smile. For them, they’d already done so much talking. That they were there like they were, naked together in his bed after a few really good hours together, was testament to just how much they’d talked.  

But there was more, there was so much more. Things he’d admitted to Sam, Claire, Jody—even Jack about Cas, that Cas could probably already figure out—already likely knew. It just didn’t mean the same without Dean opening up to Cas and admitting it to him.  

Dean sucked in a breath, pleaded with himself to not falter, then leaned in for another kiss, and smiled. “I need to… I need to talk to you about… about how you came back, Cas."  

***  

 


	10. Chapter 10

“Jack."

Dean nodded at Cas’ assumption, losing his courage to speak and wrapping his arms a little tighter around his shoulders, distracting them both with a kiss.  

“Yeah, it was Jack,” Dean sighed when he pulled back, dropping his forehead on Cas’ again as he took another moment to compose himself, then sitting back up, and sliding his hands down to settle on the curve of his shoulders.

“When we find him—when he comes back,” Cas sighed, nudging against him, “there are… I have no idea what things he will be capable of."

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, debating with himself about stalling again with falling into speculation about Jack’s abilities, but then shook his head, and cleared his throat. “But about you, Cas. About how you got here. There’s… there’s some stuff you gotta know."

“Okay."

The cautious interest in Cas’ voice had Dean stumbling again, closing his eyes and letting his head fall forward for another second before forcing himself to make eye contact.  

“So… and I guess you already know this. Ex-angel, and all,” he said, watching Cas’ nod, and giving himself another few seconds. “So you know that… a _Nephilim_ ; they can… Jack said they can shield, and heal… protect their parents through a special bond."

“Yes,” Cas agreed, “it is… loosely translated, it is called the _Union of Souls_."

“Even though there’s grace involved?” Dean asked, receiving a soft smile for it.

“Soul in the sense of… _soulmates_ , I suppose,” Cas amended, nodding.

“Right,” Dean replied, his stomach rippling at the thought, instantly dismissing the word yet feeling such a connection with Cas that he thought he could allow it as a simplified interpretation of what was happening between them. Then scolded himself for being _romantic_.

“Dean,” Cas urged, calling Dean’s attention to the fact he’d stopped speaking.

“Right,” he said, nodding to himself, “anyway. Aside from all that, these Nephilim kids, they can... if one of their parents dies, they can… they can bring them _back_ , with the… with the blood of the other parent."

“It’s true,” Cas agreed, adjusting his arms around Dean’s waist. “Part of the reason that Nephilims are so… frowned upon, is that ability."

“Like a… cosmic get out of jail free card?” Dean summarized, earning himself the view of Cas trying and failing to hide a snort of laughter.

“Yes,” Cas agreed, though it was muffled by the way he was hiding his face in Dean’s neck.

“I need your help here, Cas,” Dean protested, though cradled the back of his head there for a second before Cas could raise it.

“Sorry."

“Don’t need to be sorry,” Dean huffed, pressing a kiss to his temple, “just… it’s kinda hard to get this stuff out."

“I’m listening, Dean,” and Cas backed his words up with a squeeze around his waist.

“You cold?” Dean said then, snatching up the comforter and attempting to drape it around Cas’ shoulders.

“Dean,” Cas huffed in exasperation, though continued to arrange the comforter round them both.

“Right. Sorry."  

“If I cannot say _thank you_ , or _sorry_ , then neither can you say _sorry_ ,” Cas told him, leaning in for a quick kiss before leaning back and looking at him with a smile.

“Okay,” Dean agreed, smiling back himself, then clearing his throat. “So. Essentially, if… if either Lucifer, or Kelly had died, the blood of the other one, with—with _Jack_ , woulda bought the other one back. Does that make any kinda sense?”

“It does,” Cas agreed, “though it is a little more complicated than that."

“How?”

“Generally speaking, the… in a relationship between a human and an angel, the human can only be brought back during the… while they are carrying the Nephilim."

“But the angel?” Dean prompted, bile rising in his throat as the picture came together for him.

“The angel involved in that relationship can almost always be brought back."

“So, the _human_ essentially… while they’re an… _incubator_ , they stand a chance of surviving, but the second they’re not. When they’re no longer of any _use_ —”

“It is an unfairly skewed… arrangement, I agree,” Cas replied dryly, and Dean grimaced harder, shuddering at the thought.

“No offense, Cas, but that’s… all kindsa messed up. Like… if you guys… if there weren’t so many of you around, it’d be a way of… I don’t know. Furthering the angel population without—”

“Exactly,” Cas agreed, raising an eyebrow.

“Gross."

“There is much about… angels, that I’m sure you would find _gross_ , Dean."

“Never thought you were gross, Cas,” Dean retorted, wrapping his arms around him and feeling Cas smile into his neck.

“Though you, I assume, prefer me when I am like _this_?” Cas asked, shifting against him. Dean groaned at the gesture, not sure he was ever going to get over the feel of Cas’ skin pressed against his own now he’d finally had it.

“I do,” he agreed with a quick kiss to the side of his head, “I mean… I wouldn't have been against seeing you in your true form one time. Or your wings—”

“They had lost their splendor, Dean. That… raising you from hell; they were recovering, but they never quite recovered,” Cas sighed, and Dean knew he’d never have a way to make up for that.  

“Sorry, Cas,” he whispered, earning himself a disgruntled wriggle that actually felt really, really good.

“Dean. What use would I have with wings as a human?”

“I don’t know, Cas,” he huffed, looking down as Cas splayed his palms wide over his thighs, “you saw X-Men, right?”

“Are you calling me a mutant?”

“Not since you don’t have _wings_ , no. I can’t,” and Dean burst out laughing at Cas’ second frustrated wriggle against him, stretching for a kiss to placate him.

“You were saying."

“About?”

“Jack,” Cas huffed, though smiled as he raised an eyebrow at him.

“Right,” Dean agreed, trying to steer his thoughts back, “right."

“Dean. Whatever you are trying to tell me, I am sure is nowhere near as bad as you are worrying about."

“It’s not _bad_ at all,” Dean said, “none of it; it’s… just hard to get it out, ‘s all."

“Then I’ll wait,” Cas smiled, nuzzling against him.

“It’s not that. It’s just… I’m getting there, okay?”

“Okay."  

“So,” Dean said, swallowing with difficulty and steeling himself once again, “if Lucifer had died— wish he _had_. But if he did, and Kelly was still around. Her blood could’ve bought him back."

“Yes,” Cas agreed, but added nothing else, waiting for Dean to speak.

“But with _Jack_ ,” Dean continued, “he… he didn’t—he _doesn’t_ see Lucifer as his father. He sees _you_ as his father."

Cas’ nod was slow, as though he was beginning to work out Dean’s words before he said them. “Go on."

“And Jack said… he said something like… remember Bobby always telling us family don't end with blood?”

“I do. And it’s true; familial bonds have always been considered to be beyond that which is purely… biological."

“Right,” Dean agreed, “so if… if Jack saw _you_ as his dad… and Kelly’d… if she'd have been alive—”  

“I would have come back. As an angel,” Cas finished for him, his eyes getting rounder in understanding.

“Exactly. But since… since Kelly’s gone, and I… ‘cos of… ‘cos you—”

“Dean—”

“It was _me_ , Cas,” Dean blurted out, squeezing him a little tighter and telling himself not to look away. “It was me. Me and Jack, that… my blood… ‘cos I… ‘cos you—”

“ _Dean_ —”

“I _love_ you, Cas."

Cas’ eyes blew wider still, his lip beginning to tremble as he stared back at him.

“I loved you, a _long_ time, Cas,” Dean added, squeezing around him and begging the shaking in his hands not to be noticeable, “and I… if I’dve known I could’ve… that we could’ve bought you back sooner, I would… Cas, I didn’t know. I _didn’t_."   

“Dean—”  

“I love you so much,” Dean urged, his voice cracking and his breath coming out in shallow gasps, “I… I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you, and I—”

“Dean,” Cas surged forward for a hard kiss before he could say anything else, shaking hard against him as he wrapped his arms around him even tighter.

“Cas—”

“I love _you_ , Dean,” Cas told him, hands cupping his face and looking him in the eye so Dean couldn’t flinch away, “I have loved you so long… so _long_ , Dean, that I… I _love_ you."

“Love you back,” Dean blurted back at him, reaching up to wipe a tear from Cas’ cheek before backhanding those from his own.  

“Am I allowed to say _thank you_ , for bringing me back, Dean?” Cas teased, though his tone was tearful, and he didn’t wait for an answer before wrapping his arms tight around him once again.

“I love you,” Dean repeated, feeling that perhaps now that he’d started saying it, he didn’t know how to stop, “and I’m… I love you."

“Dean,” Cas sighed, shifting then leaning backwards, until he could turn Dean onto his side and curl up next to him, still holding on to him tight. And for the next few minutes that was all either of them could do; splay their fingers over each other’s skin to check they were still there, and staring back at each other wide-eyed with awe, smiling the entire time.

“You’re not… mad at me, Cas?” Dean asked when he could find the words, swallowing hard in anticipation of his answer.

“Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know, Cas,” Dean sighed, darting his eyes away for a second before forcing them back, “maybe I… I mean I know there was no way to _ask_ you if you even wanted to come—if you had a problem coming back all human, but—”

“Dean,” Cas urged, leaning in to kiss him, “I am happy to be back. I _want_ to be here; exactly like this. To be with you, to be myself—to _live_ , Dean. This… the experience of… even in just these few days together, when we have… experiencing belonging, knowing that you care for me—”

“I _love_ you, Cas,” Dean blurted out again, cupping his cheek and staring hard, waiting until Cas’ eyes crinkled up as he smiled, “I should’ve told you a long, long time ago."

“As should I."

“But you did. Kinda,” Dean pointed out, shaking his head.

“As did you, Dean. In many ways, without saying the actual words. It appears neither one of us is very good at listening very well. _Or_ speaking."

“We’ll get better,” Dean promised, sweeping his hand over Cas’ back.

“We will,” Cas agreed, splaying his fingers wide on Dean’s hip in what felt like claim.

“I never wanna be without you again,” Dean whispered, and Cas closed his eyes to hear it, pressing insistently on Dean’s hip so he’d know to roll over on his back, his stomach rippling when Cas reached down to stroke along his thighs, grab the backs of his knees and push them apart, settling down in the gap between them with a pleased hum.

Cas skimmed his hands up Dean’s sides before pressing them into the bed beneath Dean’s shoulders, mouthing up his neck as he began to languidly stir his hips. Dean adjusted a little, pressing his feet firmer into the mattress so he could meet him, and in a slow, unhurried writhe they began to thicken together, glancing down occasionally to look.

“You look good on me, Cas,” Dean whispered, nosing at Cas’ jaw to turn his head away and mouthing over his pulse point, reaching out to grip around Cas’ hips to hold him up so he could watch the way they were jolting together.

“You _feel_ good on me, Dean,” Cas retorted, looking down himself and humming, then sliding out of Dean’s grip to trail a path of kisses down his chest.

“Cas,” Dean called out, jolting as Cas threw the comforter back altogether then began mouthing his way up his shaft, following with a hard press of thumb up his length to keep him where he wanted then sucking his head into his mouth. And Dean whimpered for more, legs jolting further apart, staring down at Cas in disbelief that this was something he was actually doing to him, instead of just something he’d long fantasized about.

Cas pressed him into the bed at the hip, licking and mouthing at his length, teasing him hard with a continual hum that vibrated up his shaft and had Dean trembling. Every lap of tongue left Dean stuttering, and when Cas sealed his lips around his head then sucked him into his mouth, Dean arched up with a groan, shakily reaching out to slot his fingers through the back of Cas’ hair to hold him in place.  

Cas sealed his lips around his base, just holding Dean in his mouth for a moment, then looking up at him heatedly as he dragged up his length. And Dean kept watching as he repeated it, writhing to move even with Cas pressing him down, then whimpering as he pulled off him with a final dart of his tongue along his slit.

The moment Cas shifted up onto his knees Dean reached out to wrap his fingers around his length, his breath catching at the way Cas stuttered forward, bracing himself against the bed as he began to thrust into his hand. And then Cas was moving again, settling down between Dean’s legs and arranging them so they were pressed hard together, groaning into Dean’s neck as they once again began to writhe.

“So good,” Dean stuttered out, stroking his hands down Cas’ back to grip his ass, rolling up hard beneath him and arching his head back with a moan.

Cas answered only with a growl of his own, nipping at his jaw as he angled his hips harder, pausing so he could watch his cock slide up the length of Dean’s for a few strokes then sinking down again with a groan. And Dean chased his mouth for a hard kiss, his heart thudding hard with that swell of pleasure building in him, Cas’ name falling repeatedly from his lips as he rolled up harder then slumping back with a whimper as he came.

“Dean,” Cas urged, looking down at the mess between them, angling himself to slide through it then rolling between his legs harder still. And with repeated growls into his neck Cas stiffened, arching hard against him as he came himself.

***

Waking the next morning tangled up next to Cas, Dean had a half-second of not remembering before the previous day came back to him making his heart soar. His confession, their repeated lazy exploration of each other that had taken up the rest of day, with Dean sneaking out to bring them something to eat later in the evening, and the only minutes they spent apart in bathroom breaks; there was no way for Dean to have imagined such a thing, how natural everything became between them, or what it would do to him to hear that he was loved back.

They were going to have to work on their sleeping arrangements, however, Dean thought, wincing as he tried to get some feeling back into his shoulder where Cas had fallen asleep like deadweight, and trying not to exhale too hard at the leg draped and pressed against his bladder, his own hand spread in greedy claim over Cas’ ass, with his fingers dipped between his cheeks.  But Dean was convinced there hadn’t been a moment he’d woken happier, luxuriating in a few moments of just _feeling_ Cas there with him. Dean stroked his hand up Cas’ arm wrapped around him, and allowed himself a deep, contented sigh.

“Is it morning?” Cas asked, half-asleep and gravelly, shifting a little and nuzzling his forehead into Dean’s neck.

“It is,” Dean replied, dropping a kiss on the back of his hair and rolling his shoulder a little, which Cas took as invitation to drape even more over him, then wriggled down tighter into his side.

“How much is it morning?” Cas huffed, with Dean screwing up his face in an attempt not to smile as hard as he felt like doing, sweeping his hands repeatedly over Cas’ back and up his arm, then reaching out at an awkward angle to check the time on his cell.

“Very much."

“How much is that?”

“It’s almost ten,” which apparently Cas didn’t like the sound of at all judging by the way he clung on to him even harder.

“You’re warm,” Cas told him with a sigh, and Dean squeezed his eyes up tight, already imagining so many other mornings waking up with Cas like this.

“Think you might have something to do with that."

Cas gave a noncommittal hum in answer, nuzzling harder into his neck.  

“I was thinking,” Dean said after a long pause to continue enjoying the peaceful quiet between them, “maybe we can head out today. Get you some clothes. Maybe see if there’s anything else you need."

“Can we eat first?”

“Obviously."

“Perhaps I can convince Sam to make me the oatmeal he seemed so adamant I needed to try."

“We can send him a message,” Dean replied, joking, kissing the top of his head again and pushing the phone back on the side, “ask him to bring us breakfast."

Cas lifted his head up comically slow, blearily blinking at him, then looked at the way they were wrapped around one another naked, angled his head back a little more and hummed at Dean in appreciation, and rolled a little more to drop his head down on his chest with a huff.

“I am thankful that his answer to that would be a less than polite _no_."

“Yeah, me too, Cas,” Dean laughed, wrapping his arms around him a little tighter.

“I think I left my phone in my pocket,” Cas sighed, pressing a sleepy kiss to his chest.

“Yeah, probably."

“Which is all the way over _there_ ,” Cas added, a half-hearted gesture towards their pile of clothes on the floor.

“Uh huh."

“Can I borrow your phone?”

“Not gonna play Candy Crush on me, are you, Cas?” Dean complained, already reaching for his cell and laughing as Cas wriggled disgruntledly against him.

“I am not. That is on my tablet, not my phone."

“Then what?” Dean prompted as Cas turned his head to the side, taking the phone from his fingers and beginning to thumb through. Instead of answering he pressed another kiss into Dean’s skin, then pressed the phone against his own ear.

“Yes we did have a good night, Sam, thank you for asking; both of us can still walk, yes, neither of us suffered unexpected paralysis during the night."

Dean burst out laughing at the splutter he heard Sam give on the other end of the call, earning yet another kiss to his chest at the way that laughter shifted Cas, though this kiss was a little more indignant.

“Is there coffee? Yes, Sam, I am asking you if there is coffee. Can there _be_ coffee? Good morning to you too; we will join you soon."

“What am I gonna do with you?” Dean asked, beaming up at him as Cas threw the phone to the side of the bed and leaned up to loom over him with a smile on his face.

“Many things, hopefully,” Cas retorted, shifting a little more so he was straddling him, pressing kisses into his neck.

***

“You okay?”

Dean turned a fraction to watch Sam in profile before turning his eyes back to the road.

“Yeah,” Sam said absently, still frowning at his phone.

“What’s up?”

Sam looked up, waving the phone at Dean. “That’s the third missed call I’ve had today."

Dean nodded, reminding himself it was later than it felt since he and Cas hadn’t woken until late, and it had taken the three of them a good couple of hours to eat and get ready before they set off for the mall they were currently en route to.

“No number?” he asked, glancing once again at the phone in Sam’s lap.

“None. First two I answered, it was like the line was broken or something."

“And this time?”

“Didn’t even get chance to connect the call,” Sam replied, bouncing the phone against his thigh.

“Wrong number, maybe?”

“What if it’s Jack?” Sam asked, worriedly, sighing as he gazed unseeingly out the window, “I mean; I told him to memorize our numbers."

“Then why wouldn’t he just answer?” Dean replied, a ripple of guilt rolling his stomach a little, already planning a string of apologies for Jack when he returned.

“I… maybe he… I don’t know, Dean."

“You tried tracking it yet?”

“When we get back,” Sam agreed with a nod.

“You okay back there, Cas?” Dean called, his eyes darting continuously at the rearview. Cas made eye contact and smiled immediately, nodding.  

“Jack didn’t take a cellphone?”

“Didn’t get round to giving him one,” Sam sighed with a slight glance over his shoulder that was full of guilt.

“I have no way of tracking him now,” Cas replied, frowning a little, and Dean instantly wanted to fix it.

“Yeah, well, I reckon… I reckon Jack’ll… we’ll figure it out,” he settled on saying when he could think of nothing else."

“You ready to give us a fashion parade, Cas?” Sam asked then, turning a little more and smiling.

“No."

“Aww, c’mon, Cas,” Sam teased, a whine to his voice, “don’t wanna play dress up?”

“I do not."

“I bet if Dean asked you to—”

“I think Dean is more interested in the clothes I take off than put on, Sam, but thank you for the suggestion."

“Dean’s _right here_ ,” Dean protested, his cheeks flaming hard, as Sam cackled beside him, throwing his head back.

“Of course you are,” Sam agreed, mock-placating him, then turning back again. “You have any idea what you wanna get, Cas?”

“I assume the obligatory plaid will form a staple,” Cas retorted, leaning forward to pinch at the shirt on Sam’s shoulder. Sam reached up to slap his hand away with a snort.

“Get whatever you want, Cas,” Dean replied, knowing he might be biased, but also that Cas would probably look good in anything he wore.

“...aww,”

Dean turned to raise an incredulous eyebrow at Sam, earning himself another blast of laughter, and eased his foot down a little more on the accelerator, awkwardly clearing his throat.

***

“You, uh… I saw something I wanna check out. I’ll… catch up with you."

Sam raised an eyebrow but thankfully said nothing, nudging at Cas to follow as they made their way through the mall. Dean hung back just long enough for them to be out of sight then dove into the Walgreens he’d spotted from a couple of stores down, charging around the aisles and making the quickest purchase of lube he thought he ever had in his life, then slipping it into his inside jacket pocket, and rushing to catch them up.

He found them in the clothes store he’d suggested stood beside a rack of sweaters, his eyes already zeroing in on the three colors that he thought would look best on Cas.

“Dean?”

Cas’ voice was laced with slight concern as he joined them, and without thinking Dean leaned in to kiss him, belatedly registering Sam’s smirk beside them but not showing any reaction at all.

“Wanted to check if they had a tattoo parlor here in the mall,” Dean lied smoothly, having already checked online while they were getting ready earlier.

“And?” Sam prompted, holding up a shirt for Cas to grimace at and firmly shake his head.

“Ready to get inked up today, Cas?” Dean asked, reaching out to squeeze his fingers.

“Perhaps after trying on clothes,” Cas agreed with a quick smile, filling Dean’s head immediately with images of following him into changing rooms and being pleased Sam was there with him so he couldn’t give in to the temptation. Then immediately wondering if he could get Sam to go elsewhere for a few minutes. Or longer.

Sam’s huff had Dean wincing, turning a fraction to catch his raised eyebrow knowing Sam knew exactly where his mind had gone, though their attention was then drawn to Cas picking up a sweater and announcing it was a color he liked. One of Dean’s choices, he added to himself, adamantly not puffing his chest out.  

“The itching when I had this one done was… infuriating,” Cas added, absently pressing his palm over his tattoo, reminding Dean he’d yet to inspect it properly, and promising himself he’d do just that when they were next alone. Before the end of the day, then.

“We’ll get you something for it,” Dean promised, tilting his chin for Cas to keep looking for clothes.  

Cas, as Dean had already suspected, was a reluctant shopper, taking an age to decide between two near-identical shirts because one didn’t _sit_ right, bemoaning the experience the entire time. Which Dean did not find endearing, he told himself, leaning on the wall outside the entrance to the changing rooms as Sam leaned on the other side, unable to keep the smile off his face for the grumpy way Cas repeatedly threw back the curtain and came to get their opinion.

“This one’s good, Cas,” Dean assured him, pushing the remainder of the clothes held in his arms into Sam’s, since the store only permitted trying on a few items at a time, and they were buying Cas an entire new wardrobe.

“Are you sure?”

Dean huffed, stepping forward to tug on the hem, smooth his hand up the front before sliding in a half-threaded button and tweaking unnecessarily at the collar with a swirl of thumb against his exposed neck.

“Looks good, Cas,” Sam called, with Cas raising his head from looking down at himself doubtfully, eyes darting between the two of them before giving a solemn nod, then stepping back behind the curtain.

“The jeans are good too, Cas,” Dean called out, chasing after him and pulling the curtain back just enough to tell him, snorting with laughter at the surprise on Cas’ face upon seeing him there, as though the curtain was an actual door he’d appeared through.

“Thank you."

“You look good in everything, Cas,” Dean added, ignoring Sam’s disapproving clearing of his throat, ducking in for a quick kiss that left Cas smiling, then sauntering back to Sam with a smirk on his face.

“Here, hold these,” Sam snorted, shoving the remaining pile of clothes into his arm and sliding his hand into his back pocket to drag out his cell. “He doing okay?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Dean agreed, then on noticing the deepening frown on Sam’s face as he stared at his phone, added, “‘nother missed call?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, thumbing through the phone, staring at it for another minute then shoving it back into his pocket, huffing when Dean shoved the clothes for Cas to try on back into his arms. “Where’re you going?”

“Cas needs a jacket,” Dean shrugged, “I’m gonna go take a look."

“Thought he didn’t see any he liked?”

“Yeah, well, thought I’d look anyway. Besides, he didn’t exactly look properly, did he?”

“But—”

But Dean walked away before Sam could finish his protest, zeroing in on a black pea coat he’d spotted that he knew would look perfect on Cas, checking the labels for size. He picked up a second similar one so he had another option, then turned back to find Cas standing with Sam, casting a wary look at a passing employee.

"I dislike the way the salesperson is looking at me," Cas grumbled the second Dean was back in earshot, glaring over Dean’s shoulder as he shifted to stand by his side. “Her eyes have been following me since we arrived here."

“Maybe you’re just buying more stuff than she’s used to,” Sam suggested, dropping the remaining items of clothes he’d been holding into Cas’ arms.

“Maybe she thinks you’re hot,” Dean added, turning to look at the woman in question, already talking to another customer. “Girl’s got good taste,” he added, and he turned back to Cas to give him a deliberate once over in teasing, following it up with a wink, his face splitting into a gleeful grin at Cas’ blushing smile.

Cas spun on his heel without another word, though ducking his head a little, with Dean sauntering after him to hang the coats over the curtain pole before he could close it.

“Try these as well, okay? Maybe the black one first."

Cas gave a small, solemn nod, then stepped back as Dean shut the curtain for him.

“So this tattoo parlor,” Sam prompted when Dean came back to him.

“Second floor,” Dean nodded, “you think of anything else he might need?”

“Dean,” Sam replied, the expression on his face saying he was debating how to answer, “not like he’s going anywhere. Not like… not like we can’t come shopping again some other time if there’s anything else. We don’t need to get him every single thing he’s ever gonna want and need in one visit. He’s… he’s _here_ , Dean."

“Yeah, I know,” Dean agreed, both knowing it and not knowing it, “I’m just tryna get my head round it ‘s all."

“I get it,” Sam nodded, “but he’s… he’s _here_."

“Yeah, Sam. He is,” Dean smiled, euphoric with the reality of it. Sure he might forget how to not smile.

Cas came back out the dressing room then with yet another shirt and pair of jeans. Dean sent a wink of approval in his direction, with Sam nodding in approval of his own, and another ten minutes passed with them doing the same. Cas came back to them last with the black pea coat Dean had picked out, pulling at the sleeves and smoothing his hand down the front, raising his head to look at Dean and waiting for his response.

“Looking good, Cas,” Dean agreed, unable to stop himself reaching out to tweak unnecessarily at it himself, his stomach giving a small jolt for the evidence of his good choice, pulling on the buttons and smoothing down the lapels, then twirling his finger for Cas to turn around. “Yeah; real good."

“I’ll second that without the leering,” Sam called out leaving Dean flinching, and Cas scowling over his shoulder before rolling his eyes.

“I think I have more than enough of everything,” Cas announced, sagging a little with a pleased smile.

“You getting tired?”

“A little,” Cas admitted, nudging against Dean’s side before stepping back to shrug out of the jacket.  

“Wanna skip the tattoo thing? Come back another time?”  

“We are already here,” Cas shrugged, smiling as Dean took the jacket from his fingers, then turned back to the dressing room to begin piling up his new clothes.

“We’ll get the rest,” Dean nodded, pointing Cas towards a checkout, and Cas turned to his side to get through the gap between them with his arms piled high.

“I don’t think we bought this many clothes for us both in five years,” Sam laughed, following Dean into the stall.

“Yeah, well,” Dean huffed, snatching up half the clothes Cas had chosen and adding a couple more to Sam’s pile, “it’s different now."

“Uh huh,” Sam retorted wryly, which Dean chose not to react to, only turning on his heel and heading outside.

Cas was already being rung up by the very same saleswoman who he’d been eyeing with suspicion, and Dean heard Cas cautiously answer her questions, hiding his laughter at her obvious attempts at flirting. Cas’ relief when Dean walked up behind him and pushed the clothes he was carrying on to the counter was palpable, leaving him nudging into his side in reassurance.

“Everything okay?”

“It is now,” Cas replied in a loud whisper. “She keeps looking at me as though she is _hungry_."

“Like I said,” Dean laughed, wrapping his arm around his waist and squeezing, “girl’s got good taste."

“Hey."  

Sam piled up the last of the clothes on the counter offering a polite greeting to the employee, earning a mumbled one back, though her eyes didn’t dart far from Cas at all.

“Gotta get you some shoes, Cas,” Dean told him, kissing into his shoulder, both of them looking at the borrowed pair of sneakers on his feet.

“There’s a store right next to this one,” Sam added, nodding towards the exit, all of them politely ignoring the flustered way the employee then rang up their purchases, taking the credit card from Dean’s fingers without making eye contact. “I’ll wait outside with the bags if you wanna go in and grab something."

“Cas?” Dean asked, watching the small sigh that he knew meant Cas was more tired than he was admitting.  

“We will be quick."  

And quick they were, with Dean and Cas walking out of the store less than half an hour later with yet more purchases, to find Sam surrounded by their bags, frowning down at his cell.

“Another missed call?” Dean asked, bending to snag up some of the bags as Cas did the same.

“Yeah."

“Maybe we should’ve given Jack a cell phone,” Dean sighed, watching Sam shove his phone back in his pocket and scoop up the rest of the bags.

“When we get back, I’ll try tracing it."  

“Do you still wanna get that tattoo, Cas?” Dean asked, and Cas huffed, yawned, dropped his head on Dean’s shoulder for a second then straightened up and nodded.  

“There’s a vending machine near the elevator,” Sam pointed out, “can get you a Red Bull or something to keep you going,” to which Cas nodded in thanks, stumbling in that direction.  

By the time Cas had his tattoo—an exercise in restraint for Dean to see him shirtless in the company of others and have to pretend it did nothing to him at all—another hour had passed, and Dean thought he’d spent more time in the mall that day than he had any other time in his life. It was worth it though, for the grateful way Cas kept glancing down at all his bags then turning a smile on him, and for knowing Cas had his tattoo and so was protected.  

A glance at a window as they walked away from the parlor had Dean grimacing for the rain plastering against it, and another quick look in Cas’ direction told him he might have enough energy to stick around a while longer.  

“Wanna eat while we’re here?” Dean asked, rearranging Cas’ bags in his hand and discreetly pressing his free hand into Cas’ lower back. “Means we can just go home and rest up. Don’t need to wait around to cook something, or heat something up."

“I am hungry,” Cas agreed, leaning into him a little.

“Me too,” Sam added, nodding towards a sign for a food court, “what’re you thinking, Cas?”

“I have no idea."

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean smiled, slipping his fingers to squeeze around Cas’ waist briefly, then on seeing the non-reaction from Sam keeping his hand there, “must be something you feel like?”

“I dislike escalators,” Cas announced, glaring as they approached one and not answering his question at all.

“Since when?”

“Since always,” Cas sighed, stepping onto the escalator behind him with blatant mistrust, and grumbling when Dean turned on the step above his to face him. “It isn’t safe—”

“Cas,” Dean laughed, wrapping his hand around Cas’ shoulder, “it’s fine—”

“You will _fall_ ,” Cas insisted, awkwardly pressing his hands into Dean’s hips with his bags digging into him. “Turn around."

“Alright, alright,” Dean agreed, bending down to kiss him before turning and grabbing hold of the rail, raising an eyebrow in challenge as Sam turned to grin at him.

“So. What are we eating?” Sam asked once they were off the escalator, turning and gesturing at the restaurants making up the food hall. “Chipotle? Chick-fil-A? Five Guys?”

“Five Guys is the one with the burgers,” Cas checked, eyes already turning towards the sign.

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, rolling his eyes, making Dean burst out laughing for his expression.

“Man after my own heart,” he smiled, squeezing Cas back into his side.

“You know, Cas. Just ‘cos _Dean_ likes to eat stuff like that—”

“I also like to _eat stuff like that_ ,” Cas retorted immediately, nudging against Dean, smiling as he pulled a chair out for him to sit down, “at least. That is what I would like to eat right now."

“Maybe since you’re human and all, for _good_ now, you should think about taking up some kinda exercise,” Sam suggested as he sank down into a chair himself, looking either side of him for where to wedge his legs due to the mound of bags filled with Cas’ new things.

“Not _right_ now,” Dean amended, glaring at Sam for the suggestion.  

“I am stronger than I felt a couple of days ago,” Cas told him, smiling at Dean in affection, “and I am tired… _less_."

“I know,” Dean agreed, “just don’t have to—”

“Rush,” Cas finished for him, reaching out beneath the table and squeezing over his thigh.

Dean scowled at Sam’s snort before he ducked behind his menu, tangling Cas’ fingers through his own before he could pull his hand away.

“In any case,” Cas continued, dragging his menu before him to study, “it is something I intend to think about at some stage. Perhaps I will take up running. Jimmy used to run every morning; he enjoyed watching the sun rise."

Dean’s mind went immediately to Cas in short, tight shorts and an equally tight t-shirt, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  

“If you want, when you’re ready, I’ll show you the route I normally take near the bunker,” Sam offered, to which Cas nodded in agreement, and the three of them slipped into an easy conversation as they chose their food, with Dean still holding Cas’ hand against his thigh.

***

“Hey. No, I hear you."

Dean turned and watched Sam screwing up his face in concentration, one finger pressed into his ear as he tried to listen to his call. They were finally on their way back to the bunker, with full bellies and an even more full trunk, and Dean couldn’t wait to just sink down somewhere soft with Cas.

“Got it. No, no it’s fine,” Sam continued, wincing at a particularly loud crackle even Dean could hear, “I’m sure we can handle it. Text me details okay? Great. Uh, hey. You been trying to call me today? Yeah, the line’s pretty bad. Okay. ‘k."

“So?” Dean asked when Sam sighed, sliding his phone into his jacket pocket.

“Least I know who’s been calling me."

“Who?”

“Hunter,” Sam grimaced, looking out the window and up at the cascading rain. “I… know we haven't done this in a while, and… and Cas just got here and all, but since it’s kinda on our patch—”  

“We have a case,” Cas finished for him, sounding half asleep in the back seat where he’d sprawled out the second he’d slid in the car.

“We have a case,” Sam agreed, turning an apologetic gaze in Dean’s direction. “I’ve been… I’ve been kind of… filtering them out, and passing them on, but…”

“It’s fine, Sam. Gotta get back to it some time,” Dean told him, his heart giving a thud of excitement at Cas’ automatic inclusion of himself, then his stomach dropping at the thought of Cas’ first case as human. A hard wish for a life _after_ hunting striking him hard in the chest.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat and forcing the happier images forming behind his eyes away for another time, “what’re we doing? What is it?”

“That was Rose,” Sam said, waving his phone again, “hunter based out of Edmond."

“Oklahoma?”

“Yeah. Says she got word of something in Junction City—”

“Which is… definitely closer to us than Oklahoma,” Dean finished for him, raising an eyebrow, and wondering just how many cases technically in _their_ area Sam had sent elsewhere.

“Right,” Sam agreed, shifting, darting his eyes away as though confirming Dean’s suspicions.

“You heard of her?”

“Cesar mentioned her in passing,” Sam shrugged, “he was the one that gave her my number."

“Fair enough,” Dean nodded, “so. What’ve we got?”

“Sounds pretty weird."

“What kinda weird?”

“‘Cos it’s not like… it’s not like anything real _bad_ is happening, I guess,” Sam sighed, screwing up his face.

“Then why’re we even—”

“More like a whole series of… bad, or unfortunate things happening to people,” Sam amended, “like… well, I guess, people who might deserve having some bad things happening to them?”

“Yeah,” Dean scoffed, “can you vague that up for me a little more?”

“I’m talking about curses. Hexes. Rose says there’s one really outspoken wannabe candidate for local government—misogynistic, homophobic, and so on—who’s got next to no supporters, went out to try and rally up some support, had a heart attack and fell from the stage the second he turned on his microphone."

“I’m not seeing a downside to this,” Dean huffed, glaring at an overtaking car that got too close to them.

“Right,” Sam agreed, “and apparently, the new owner of a bar that’s been around for years was trying to make all these renovations that would’ve disrupted the businesses either side. Apparently wasn’t too good to the remaining staff he’d kept on from the previous owner either."

“And what happened to him?”

“Lost all his money. Account got drained, then the IRS started sniffing round; no one’s seen him in weeks."

“Just sounding like good karma to me, Sammy,” Dean laughed, shrugging and feeling in no hurry to pick up the case at all.

“I know. But Rose says it’s just all these things that keep stacking up. Like… school bully in the local high school hospitalized when he was attacked by a swarm of ants. The principal of the same school having the same thing happen—”

“Maybe they’ve just got some really skeevy ant infection,” Dean suggested, skin crawling at the thought.

“Maybe,” Sam shrugged, “but it was right after a girl complained to her mom about a boy in her class being real _skeevy_ with all the girls in their class, and when she reported it to the principal he didn’t do anything, just said _boys will be boys_ , or something,”

“Told you. Karma."

“This sounds like a witch,” Cas added with a hard sigh that morphed into a yawn, and had Dean checking him over in the rearview wondering if they’d get back to the bunker before Cas fell asleep.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what this sounds like,” Sam agreed, “and Rose says the thing that got her attention, got her looking into it more anyway, was the local priest."

“Priest?”

“Yeah,” and Sam’s mouth curled up as though he wanted to laugh, “apparently, someone doesn’t like the priest. Our potential _witch_ doesn’t like our priest. He’s complaining of satanic symbols being carved into the walls of his church, the trees, gates; everything. Says someone put a hex on him so when he tried to deliver his sermon, his voice cut out."

“So… nothing to do with like laryngitis, or strep throat… or anything like that."

“Not according to him,” Sam smiled, “also kicking up a fuss about graveyard dirt being dug up."

“Is it… does this really need looking in to? _Now_?” Dean protested, catching Cas’ eyes dropping closed.

“All of it sounds not all that bad right now, but what if it gets worse? What if this… apparently do-gooder witch gets carried away or something goes wrong with one of their spells? And if people are being _hospitalized_ —”

“We gotta check it out,” Dean finished for him with a groan.

“Yeah, we do. Rose was all set to go, but her sister went into labor this morning and she’s… struggling. Husband’s serving somewhere overseas, so…”

“So we can… we can head out tomorrow,” Dean sighed, grimacing at the thought. Before, they might have headed straight off to whatever case called their attention, but there was no way in hell he was going to rush Cas—already half asleep on the backseat worn out after a few hours of shopping—into a case where he was unprepared, hadn’t even had a night’s sleep—and a _witch_ , of all things.

“Guess at least we don’t gotta go racing over there now,” Dean huffed, nodding for Sam to turn around to look at Cas, and seeing his affectionate smile confirming Cas was already asleep.

“Another day’s not gonna kill anyone. Hopefully,” Sam agreed, and Dean sighed hard, reluctant though resigned to the case ahead.

***

 


	11. Chapter 11

“We should’ve got you some more hangers, Cas."

Dean hung the last shirt he had space for in Cas’ closet and closed the door, eyeing the remaining clothes that couldn’t be folded away, and making a mental note to pick some more up the next time they went for groceries.

“Thank you for today."

Dean shrugged as Cas held out the trash can in danger of brimming over with tags and wrapping, folding up the now-empty bags to leave on top of the bookcase and turning back around.

“You needed stuff."

“Perhaps not _that_ much stuff,” Cas smiled, fingers brushing along the comforter of the bed, watching Dean from the other side.

“Yeah, well, you got it now. Should keep you going for a bit,” but Dean knew their purchases were a little overkill, and wanted, in part, to chide himself for acting like buying things for Cas would be enough to make up for everything. Fill in any gaps that were missing that they were yet to talk about. “How’re you doing?”

“I am quite tired,” Cas admitted, still playing with the comforter like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Want me to leave you to sleep?”

“Actually,” and Cas cleared his throat nervously, eyes flitting away for a moment before he forced them back to Dean, “I wondered if… perhaps you might like to stay here."

Dean’s stomach knotted in excitement, finding himself stumbling forward to brace against the side of the bed. “Yeah, Cas. That’d be good,” and Dean thanked himself for the foresight of the quick shower he’d taken the moment they’d got back, still able to taste the mint of his toothpaste.  

Cas, not long back from a shower himself, gave a hesitant smile. “You would?”

“Of course. Can’t imagine your bed’s as comfortable as mine though, Cas."

“You will be in it. That will make it comfortable enough,” Cas replied, and Dean’s go-to need to retort something in jest didn’t even surface.

“You sure you’re up for coming on this thing tomorrow?” Dean asked, echoing Cas as he began to shrug out of his clothes, looking over Cas’ tattoo and glad to see nothing more than the expected redness around it. Pausing when down to only his boxers then watching Cas slide straight out of his own, and doing the same.

“Of course."

“But it’s been a while since—”

“I know, Dean,” Cas smiled, sliding into the bed and pulling back the cover for Dean to join him, “I promise not to _hold you back_."

“It’s not about that, Cas,” Dean replied, immediately reaching out for and pulling Cas to him, peppering kisses over his face until Cas laughed, “I just want you safe. And you’re… if you’re _tired_ , still, I don’t want—if you’ve not got your reflexes about you—”

“We will book a motel room,” Cas said, sweeping his hand over Dean’s back, “I will return to the motel if I feel I am… putting either myself, or you and Sam, in danger. Perhaps I can help research anything you will need from there if it is… if I am _tired_. Is that a fair compromise, Dean?”

“It is."

“Then will you stop worrying?” Cas asked, reaching out to run a thumb down over his brow teasingly, smiling at him.

“Cas…” Dean blasted out, but had nothing else he wanted to say. He pulled Cas closer, rolling him onto his back as he kissed him, closing his eyes with a sigh as Cas lifted his arms to wrap around his neck.  

“How long will it take us to get there?”

“Maybe a little over two hours?”

“So we do not need to leave very early,” Cas continued, arching up beneath him with a contented sigh.

“Not too early."

“Then we can sleep in a little,” Cas smiled in conclusion.

“You wanna sleep now, Cas?” Dean asked, pulling back enough to monitor his expression.

“Perhaps not yet."

“Maybe we could… I can check your tattoo."  

Cas hummed in response, reaching out to the side to switch on the lamp. Dean pressed a kiss to his cheek and slid out of bed, going over to switch the main light out, snorting when he turned back to the bed and Cas had thrown the comforter completely to one side.

“I was there, Cas,” Dean laughed, crawling back onto the bed and straddling his thighs, “I know you only got this one tattoo for me to look at."

“Technically, I now have two for you to _look at_."

“Fair,” Dean agreed, sitting back for a second then bracing himself on one arm, sweeping a cautious thumb around the new tattoo and wincing at the heat of it, yet pleased to see up close that it was fine.

“Looking good, Cas,” he winked, sliding a little further down the bed and squeezing Cas’ legs between his knees, beginning a trail of kisses at his sternum and working his way down, mouthing over his stomach, swirling his thumbs over his hip bones, then pulling back just enough to inspect his older tattoo. “Thought about this a lot."

“You have?”

“Uh huh,” Dean agreed, mouthing along the tattoo and humming to himself.  

“What have you been thinking?”

“That I can’t wait to get my mouth on it,” Dean replied, darting his tongue out to trace over the lines.

“And now?” Cas prompted, hand out and stroking over the back of Dean’s head, teasing at strands of his hair.

“Now,” Dean replied, nuzzling against him, “I don’t think I’m gonna get my mouth on it enough. Or on any of you."

“I am yours to do with whatever you want, Dean."

“That so?"

“Yes."

Dean thought about the lube still in his jacket pocket in his room, the bags under Cas’ eyes speaking of his tiredness, and settled for laying his forehead on Cas’ stomach then kissing his way back up his chest, settling on his side.  

“Dean—”

But Dean hummed into his shoulder, spreading his hand wide down over Cas’ chest then stroking his fingertips down to tease over his length. “Maybe I can just help you relax."

“I think I am already _relaxed_ , Dean,” Cas countered, splaying his knees a little and rolling his hips, encouraging Dean to grip around him.

“ _More_ relaxed, then,” Dean amended, kissing against his shoulder again, but gently squeezing and tugging, coaxing Cas hard. Cas arched languidly at his touch, raising his head to watch for a few seconds then dropping it back with a huff, rolling his hips again when Dean changed his grip on him and began a lazy rock up into his hand.

Dean watched his hand on him, cataloguing every twist of his fingers that had Cas moaning, hiding his smile in his shoulder at the groan punching out his mouth for the thumb swirled over his head. A squeeze along Cas’ slit spilled precum on to his thumb, which Dean raised to suck into his mouth, winking at Cas as he did. Cas drummed his heels into the bed and groaned out his name, leaving Dean snorting and kissing his way back down his chest.

“Well, okay then, Cas,” he said reasonably, nudging against his inner thighs so he’d know to part them further, then laving a long lick up his length from root to tip as he settled. Cas’ answering gasp had him pressing a kiss against his shaft, then gripping around his base and repeatedly licking over him, a teasing dart of his tongue against his slit a couple of times, and mouthing just below his head when Cas called out for him pressing there.

“You good, Cas?” he asked, gripping lightly around his head with his thumb and finger and lapping repeatedly over it, humming against it as Cas called out his name again. And Dean raised himself up a little to get more comfortable, splaying his hands wide over Cas’ stomach for a moment before angling him how he wanted, wrapping his lips around his shaft and sliding them down.  

The weight of Cas on his tongue set Dean’s stomach fluttering, as did the way he writhed against him pressing him firmly into the bed to keep him still. Dean dragged his lips up the length of him repeatedly, pausing only to lap over his head, then slid them down slow again to fill his mouth, swallowing around him.

Cas jolted hard beneath him, fingers shakily reaching to press into the back of his head, and Dean swallowed again, closing his eyes to the breathless gasps above him, absently reaching out to work himself to relieve some of the friction in his own cock.  

“Let me see,” Cas demanded, croaking the words out, leaving Dean to shift to an awkward angle balanced on his side so he could still suck Cas into his mouth yet show Cas what he was doing to himself at the same time. The breathy gasping out of his name had Dean working himself harder, and the hum he let out around Cas’ shaft just left him calling out again.

Cas’ breaths became more frantic, and Dean shifted his full focus back to him, raising up onto his knees and bracing one hand against the bed as he wrapped his fingers around Cas’ base to stroke and squeeze him, still sucking and dragging his lips up the rest of his length and over his head. And with his hands bunched tight into the sheets Cas arched up with a soundless gasp, flooding Dean’s mouth with several bursts before slumping back with a tired sigh.

Dean lapped over his head a final time then pressed his forehead into his stomach with a groan, sitting back on his knees and wrapping a hand around himself. Cas’ eyes were on him immediately, raising up on his forearms to watch as Dean stroked himself furiously, stumbling forward with a soft moan, then splattering over his chest.  

Dean groaned as the last wave of his orgasm rippled through him, thumb out to stroke over Cas’ side where he was braced, then sitting back with a hard sigh, belatedly adding _Kleenex_ to the list of things Cas needed for his room. He kneeled his way off the bed, snatched up the t-shirt he’d been wearing to wipe Cas down, then wiped himself off, and slumped back on the bed beside him.

“You okay, Cas?” he asked, curling their fingers together for a second, but then Cas was growling out his name and rolling over, plastering himself against Dean’s chest. And Dean managed work the comforter out from beneath his side to throw over them as he let out a snort of laughter, smiling as Cas settled on him, clearly not planning on moving again.

“Love you, Cas,” he blurted out before he could second guess it, squeezing him tight in his arms, relishing in the warmth and weight of Cas on him.

“Love you too,” Cas mumbled into his skin, already half way to sleep.  

Dean stretched out to the side to switch off the lamp, wrapped his arm around Cas again and snuggling down, smiling up into the dark for a few seconds before closing his eyes, content.

***

“You okay back there, Cas?”

Cas answered with nothing but a sleepy nod and smile for him in the rearview, turning his face back to looking out the window as they pulled away from the bunker.

“So, I looked a couple things up before breakfast,” Sam said once they’d been driving a couple of miles, thumbing through his phone and turning a little to speak to them both.

“And?”

“And,” Sam replied, “turns out this… _conflict_ between the priest and the… _witch_ , has been going on for months."

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Sam snorted, “graveyard dirt’s been dug up, replaced with little tokens— _offerings_ , he called them; headstones cleared of weeds, bouquets of flowers left, symbols made of out flowers, leaves, and so on—priest says they’re _evil_ , but that probably just means Wiccan, right?”

“Maybe,” Dean shrugged.

“And there’s like… Witches Knot carvings all around the neighbourhood we’re heading to,” Sam added.

“Like… the one to control the weather, or tie up _victims_ , or the whole Cat’s Cradle thing—”

“Or,” Sam said, raising an eyebrow, “since this _witch_ seems to have mostly good intentions, for _protection_."

Dean shook his head in dismissal. “And that’s everything we know?”

“That’s as much as I found out,” Sam agreed, frowning and dragging his cell from his jacket pocket.

“Rose again?” Dean asked, nodding at the phone.

“Hello?” Sam answered the call, shaking his head at Dean. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, this is Sam?”

“Who?” Dean whispered, watching Sam swipe his hand through the air to silence him.  

“Yes, Sam Winchester."

Dean took in the suspicion in his tone, drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel and waiting.

“Interpreter?” Sam said, in apparent repetition of whatever the person on the end of his call was telling him. “Okay…”

“What’s happening?” Dean whispered, cut off with another swipe through the air.  

“Okay. Yeah, I’m… yeah,” Sam said, sounded even more confused. Dean opened his mouth to speak again but was stopped by Sam sitting rigidly upright, eyes wide as saucers and his face paling in seconds. “Ei… _Eileen_?”

Dean’s heart gave a hard thud when the next sound to fall from Sam’s mouth was a loud sob, and his eyes went first to check Sam over, and next for the first safe place to stop.

“But… we _saw_ you. _I_ saw you. Eileen? Is it… the hospital? Where? _Where_? I’ll come get you. I’ll leave now; I’ll… please… is it really you?” and Sam’s sob was louder this time, tears beginning to brighten his eyes, and a smile starting to curve up his trembling mouth. “I’ll come now. I will, I’ll be as quick as I can. Doesn’t matter; I’ll see you soon, okay? Okay…”

The moment Sam’s call finished he was digging his elbows into his thighs and leaning forward, trying to catch his breath.

“Sammy—”

“It’s Eileen."

“Yeah, I got that, Sammy,” Dean agreed, pulling over and reaching out to wrap a hand round his arm.

“She’s… she’s in a hospital,” Sam answered, dazed as he turned to look at him.

“Where?”

“South Carolina."

“But we… we saw her, Sammy. In the _morgue_ —”

“It wasn’t her,” Sam shook his head rapidly, eyes still wide, “I don’t know who it was, but it wasn’t her. It _wasn’t_."

“Sammy,” Dean said, hesitating for a second and squeezing around his shoulder, “I… believe me. I want this to be Eileen, but I… are you sure?”

Sam’s phone vibrated again then and he snatched it up from his thigh, thumbing at the screen and sobbing once again. “It’s her,” he managed to croak out, turning the screen to show a picture of Eileen waving from a hospital bed looking exhausted but otherwise okay.

“What happened?”

Sam shook his head, reading through a message, and letting out a burst of teary laughter. “She says she was in a coma. Last thing she remembers was a guy in a suit and a sharp blow to the back of her head. Woke up two days ago; she’s been trying to call me, but her cell phone’s not working all that great, and… she can’t video call, so… and she couldn’t, hear me, and—”

“So we’ll go get her,” Dean nodded, already planning the route.

“I wanna go on my own,” Sam replied, shaking his head and sounding dazed, “I… I need to go on my own."

“Okay,” Dean agreed, “so we need to get you there. Get you a car—”

“I’ll hotwire one,” Sam snapped back, already looking around where they were like he was planning on jumping out there and then.

“Hold up a sec,” Dean urged, grabbing his arm to get his attention, “c’mon, Sammy. We’re like… we can spin round, get back to the bunker in like… half hour—”

“I need to _go_ ,” Sam protested, his words coming out in a choked wail.

“Sam. We should get you a car that is reliable. That you will not be stopped for driving, and will not… give you any problems,” Cas added from the back, leaning forward a little to join in the conversation.

“I need to get to her,” Sam said, his voice becoming softer and even more cracked.

“And you will,” Dean nodded, spinning the car around.  

The drive back to the bunker was tense, with Sam’s eyes repeatedly on the speedometer as though willing Dean to drive faster without wanting to say it out loud. And the moment they pulled up outside the bunker Sam was out the car before the engine was even cut, with Dean chasing after him to follow him to the garage.

“Just… calm down a second, Sammy, okay?” Dean said, flaring his fingers in an attempt to placate him, watching Sam pull at his hair and spin on the spot as though he didn’t know where to start. “Here. Take this one,” he added, grabbing a set of keys for a Chevy pick-up he’d been working on, “just needs gas. I tuned her up about a week ago, when Cas—”

Sam snatched the keys from his hand, still in a panic, and Dean reached out to stop him before he could run. “Dean—”

“Hey,” Dean said, pulling him closer and grabbing him around the shoulder, “hey. This is gonna be okay, okay? Just… you need to breathe, man. I don’t want you driving down there if you’re not thinking straight,”

“Dean; how can I think straight when—”

“You gotta,” Dean urged him, squeezing his shoulder harder, “you gotta. For you, for _Eileen_. I don’t wanna have to come get you ‘cos you lost your head and ended up in a ditch somewhere."

“Dean—”

But Dean stepped forward, wrapping him up in a hard hug, closing his eyes at the tremble that surged through Sam’s body, and holding on tight until he felt him calm a little. “You get your head clear, you hear me? Go get Eileen, get her back here. Get you _both_ back here, in one piece. ‘K, Sammy?”

Sam breathed out hard but nodded, finally making eye contact for a moment, then spinning away again out of his arms, with Dean watching him jump in the Chevy and speed away without even a glance back at him. Dean stared after him for a second then made his way back out to the Impala, sliding back into his seat.

“Cas. What’re you doing back there. Get up here,” he called out, slapping the seat beside him.

“You’re just going to let him go?” Cas asked as he got out, and Dean opened his mouth to speak but waited to answer when he climbed in the front.  

“What else am I gonna do, Cas, huh? Chase after him?”

“I suppose not,” Cas sighed, and Dean grimaced to himself hoping his words hadn’t come out harsh, reaching out across the seat to squeeze his hand.

“Are you… do you wanna skip this thing, Cas?” Dean asked, faced with the idea of dealing with a witch potentially alone if Cas wasn’t feeling up to it.

“I think we should go anyway,” Cas nodded, “perhaps we can… we can at least scope it out."

Dean stared back at him for another minute, debating what to do, torn between what he wanted to do, and what he thought he should do, then signing and nodding in agreement.  

“You and me, Cas,” Dean smiled, leaning across to kiss him, all thoughts of the case they were heading for abandoned, and having to force himself to pull away before he could change his mind again.

***

Pulling up outside the lodge he’d looked up directions for, Dean looked up at the building then over to Cas, drumming his thumb against the steering wheel. “What do you think?”

“Dean?”

“I mean,” he said, shifting a little, "maybe it's a little better than the motels we're usually in, huh, Cas?"

Cas turned away again to look, and nodded.

“Maybe not by _much_ ,” Dean admitted, an image of him and Cas in far more luxurious accommodation somewhere else for entirely different reasons taunting him for a second, before he could force it away.

“We are here for a case,” Cas said, smiling at him with his eyes slightly narrowed, as though he could tell his thoughts were elsewhere.

“So how ‘bout, we go in, get settled. Maybe go grab some dinner later, see if we can’t blend in with the locals, see what we can hear?”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to pretend to be FBI agents as you and Sam would normally do?” Cas asked, dragging his eyes back from the lodge and looking at Dean. They’d discussed it on the drive, with Dean thinking that would be too heavy-handed, and with just the two of them going they would probably stand a good chance of blending in without pretending to have any authority.

“You just wanna flash your new ID, huh, Cas?” Dean teased, leaning in to kiss him.

“Cas _Winchester_ isn’t an alias, Dean. It is my _name_ ,” Cas retorted, smiling as he kissed him back.

“Good point,” Dean nodded, squeezing his thigh, “I just… I figured, we should just… let’s take this one easy, ‘k, Cas? Don’t mean we won’t get done what we need to, it’ll just… let’s just go slow. Scope the place out, like you said."

“It is a good idea,” Cas replied, his eyes shining with mirth before he dropped his head down on Dean’s shoulder and sighed there, then pulled back.

“You tired, Cas?”

“No,” Cas denied, shaking his head, “no. Just a little… apprehensive."

Dean’s heart skipped at the honesty of Cas’ words, but he smiled in reassurance, squeezing over his hand.

“Not like you don’t know what you’re doing here, Cas. You been with us on cases so many times."

“Not as human."

“Not—not so many like that,” Dean agreed, following Cas out the car, “but still. Not like you don’t know what you’re doing. And I mean… you’re still _you_. Just ‘cos you don’t got all that angel juice now, don’t mean you’re not a good hunter."

“That is not what you have told me in the past,” Cas retorted with a huff that had Dean dragging their bags out the trunk and slamming it shut, spinning Cas to press against it.

“Not the first time I’ve been wrong about something either,” he mumbled against his lips, feeling Cas smile, and loop his arms low around his waist.  

“We should go inside."

“Why? Dean asked, leaning against him.

“Because. I want to kiss you,” Cas told him.

“I look like I’m gonna stop you kissing me right here?” Dean countered, tilting his chin a little in challenge, wrapping his arms a little tighter around him as Cas hummed then leaned up, kissed him slow, unhurried, enough for them to both lose track of time.

“We should—we should get inside,” Dean said, having to clear his throat to get his words out, stepping back and slinging one of the bags over his shoulder, tilting his head for Cas to follow.

***

Out of nowhere, Dean’s knees felt like they might give out on him, clutching tight to the room key given to him by the bored-looking receptionist and making their way through the hallways searching for their number.  

The room was a little bigger than he’d expected, with matching walnut furniture and cream walls, and a bathroom with dated though clean fittings, made darker than necessary by the wall painted an almost-mustard color. Inspecting the room furnishings was not something he’d normally take that much time doing when he was with Sam, but with only Cas there beside him, that weak-kneed feeling was accompanied with a thudding heart.

“Booked us a couple nights,” he said, knowing it was pointless since Cas had been right there with him as he’d paid.

“I know. Perhaps we will know by tomorrow if we need to extend it."

“Here’s hoping,” Dean agreed, then spinning on his heel, “not—I mean, I’m not saying I wanna have to stay here any longer, or that we—”

“What is it?” Cas asked, cutting him off and staring at Dean hard as though searching for something, stepping a little closer, and speeding up Dean’s heart.

“Nothing,” Dean denied, shaking his head, “just not done this for a while."

“Dean—”

“Look at these towels, huh?” Dean added, dragging down one from the mounted rack in the bathroom and waving it at him, rubbing the corner of it between his fingers. “Maybe should’ve bought some from home, or—”

“ _Dean_."

Dean came to a stop in the bathroom doorway, stooping forward slightly as Cas reached out to take the towel from his fingers, tugging him out the bathroom and going in himself to put the towel back, then returning to the room.

“I’m just… this is the first time we’ve been _together_ on a case, Cas,” Dean said, anchored as Cas slotted their fingers together, gently guided him to the bed, kicking his shoes off to lay down beside him.

“Do you think we will not work together well?”

“I _think_ I’m gonna be more distracted than I used to be at having you around,” Dean retorted, wrapping his arm around Cas’ waist and pulling him closer. “I think I’m gonna be even more aware of everywhere you are in a room. And aren’t."

Cas’ smile for him was affectionate as he leaned in to kiss him softly. “I am sure I will be equally distracted."

“And that’s kind of the point,” Dean insisted with a hard sigh, “what if we’re so… _distracted_ with us being together that we… that we do a half-assed job here? Aren’t careful enough? I mean,” and Dean had to clear his throat, taking a moment to steer his thoughts so he could get his words out right, “already, all I’m thinking about is how bad I wanna just hole up in this room with you for the next two days and do nothing else but _be_ with you."

Cas smiled a little harder, nuzzling a kiss into his cheek, and wrapping his arm tighter around Dean’s waist. “That sounds far more… pleasurable."

“Exactly."

“But we are here to _work_ ,” Cas added, “I am sure we can _focus_ for… when we need to, Dean."

“Guess we’ll find out."

“What is our _story_?” Cas asked, and Dean knew he was trying to help him find that focus, but the way his thumb repeatedly swirled circles into his side was not helping with that at all.

“Our story?”

“Yes. Why are we here in Junction City?”  

“Like, what’s our cover?” Dean asked, earning himself another small smile and a lingered kiss.

“Yes."

“I don’t know, Cas,” Dean shrugged, “I figured… I mean, I guess we can just… head out. Hang out. Take a look around; maybe if we go to that church Sam told us about, walk by the school—he sent everything he found to my cell, so we know at least where we’re going. But maybe if we just take a look around, we can figure out our plan of attack for tomorrow. Get dinner somewhere, see if we overhear anything."

“Everything happened within this neighbourhood,” Cas asked, confirming what they’d been discussing on the drive.

“Yeah, Sam didn’t come up with anything but what’s happening here. So I guess we don’t have too much ground to cover."  

“Then we should… it’s a good idea. To… just be us."

“I think so,” Dean agreed, crowding a little closer.

“But first,” Cas smiled, nudging Dean over onto his back, “I think I would like to kiss you again."

“Nothing stopping you,” Dean smiled, arching a little as Cas settled between his legs, “and I’m sure as hell not gonna object."

Cas smiled in answer, shifting to get more comfortable then leaning down, claiming that kiss.

***

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! For those paying attention to the population size here, there's a note for you at the end :D x

“Looking good, Cas."

Cas caught his eye in the bathroom mirror and gave a shy smile, smoothing a hand down the shirt he’d just carefully buttoned and leaning back when Dean wrapped his arms around him, dropping his head on his shoulder as Dean leaned down to kiss along his neck.

“Thank you."

“Make me not wanna leave the room,” Dean added, splaying a hand low on his stomach to press Cas firmer against him. The third night in a row he’d fallen asleep with Cas—in their third shared bed—and Dean was already convinced he might not be able to sleep without him again.   

“Which makes it exceptionally difficult for me to want to leave also."

“Not helping, Cas,” Dean protested, as Cas turned in his arms and backed him up against the bathroom wall with a wicked smirk.

“You started it."

“I know I did,” Dean agreed, a click in his throat as Cas trailed his fingers down his front, gripping around him just once through his jeans then pulling away again, smiling over his shoulder as he left the room.  

“Perhaps we can agree to spend a couple of hours here together later,” Cas suggested when Dean followed him out, sinking to the edge of the bed and pulling on the boots they’d bought that seemed to be his favourite.

“Like… a reward, for getting the job done?”  

“Exactly,” Cas agreed, hands immediately on Dean’s hips as he came to slot between his knees. “I want to eat now."

“It’s a good incentive,” Dean agreed, pulling Cas to his feet and immediately slotting his hands in Cas’ back jean pockets. “And yeah, I could eat. Starving."

“So, the quicker we leave, the quicker we can come back,” Cas continued, though not helping at all with the way he pressed up against Dean and angled his face up to be kissed.

Dean hummed in answer but made no move to hurry that kiss up, only doing so when Cas smiled against him and nudged him backwards with another mumble under his breath about being hungry. And with another glance over his shoulder as he grabbed his jacket, Cas swung the room door open, snatching up the key from the lock and leaving, turning back only to wink at him.

Dean grinned at the empty doorway, turned his eyes to the ceiling, then charged out behind him.

***

“So. Where do you think?”

Dean patted his stomach after their complimentary breakfast in the lodge thankful for the two cups of strong coffee he’d had with it, and without thinking slid his fingers through Cas’, exactly as he had done when they’d looked around the neighbourhood the day before.  

“We passed the school yesterday,” Cas replied, “the community hall where the politician had his heart attack."

“Saw that Witches Knot outside a bunch of houses,” Dean added, thinking of the carvings in trees or daubed on to gates and walls in front of both residential properties and businesses.

“We agreed we would go to the farmer’s market this afternoon,” Cas replied, pointing out another of the knots painted almost discreetly to blend in with the bright mural adorning the wall outside a kindergarten.

“So we should head to the church maybe now,” Dean sighed, thinking of their walk there yesterday, only to turn away again so they didn’t interrupt a wedding that was taking place.

“I would like to return to the bookstore where we saw the flyer for the farmer’s market,” Cas said then, squeezing Dean’s hand as they crossed the street.  

“Look at us blending in like real locals,” Dean huffed then, shaking his head at himself.

“You and Sam have attended all kinds of things you would not, presumably, attend should you have any personal choice,” Cas pointed out, turning an affectionate smile on him that had Dean nudging against his shoulder. “And besides; does _cooking demonstration_ not mean free food samples? The flyer did mention a cooking demonstration by a _local enterprise_."

“True,” and just the mention of Sam—not that he’d not been the main focus of their first sleepy conversation of the morning, and most of what they’d talked about over breakfast—had Dean checking his cell yet again, willing Sam to get in contact.

“Sam?” Cas asked, squeezing his hand in reassurance when Dean shook his head and sighed.

“He’ll call when he’s ready."

“And you think… with Eileen. The British Men of Letters—”

“Who else would have it in for hunters, huh? Especially one that’s one of our friends? Had to have been that bastard Ketch who set that hellhound on an innocent woman to get our attention, tricking us into thinking it was Eileen."

“Sam did tell me that the letter he received from Eileen sounded out of character,” Cas added, with Dean turning his head to the side to catch his frown.

“I… guess he’d know better than me,” and Dean was left wondering how often Sam might have looked that letter over in the past few weeks, doing the same mourning he’d been doing looking over Cas’ stuff. The very reminder that he’d thought he’d lost Cas permanently had Dean dropping his hand, throwing an arm around his shoulders so he could get him closer, pressing a kiss to his temple, before dropping it again to snatch up his hand once again.

Cas smiled at the gesture, curious though pleased, then pointed out the sign for the church and nodding ahead.

***

“They’ve been stealing dirt from graves for over a year now."

The disgruntled sigh that accompanied the priest’s words spoke of a man long troubled by such an annoyance, and Dean found himself having to hide a smile.  

“I thought about installing cameras to see if I could catch anyone, but unfortunately our budget does not stretch that far,” he added with another sigh.  

“And you said these marks have been appearing for just as long?” Cas asked, pointing to the symbols carved into the nearest tree.

“Yes,” the priest agreed, scowling at the markings that seemed to offend him so much, “at first I thought it was just kids messing around, but then when they—and others—started appearing all over the church, in the grounds, and around the neighbourhood, I knew it was something _dark_ at work."   

“Sebastian—”

“Seb,” the priest amended immediately, cutting Cas off with a smile and wave of his hand.

“Seb,” Cas nodded, nodding towards the tree, “there is nothing _dark_ about these symbols."

“Of course there is,” Sebastian argued, waving an impatient hand, “they’re—”

“They’re _Wiccan_ ,” Cas finished for him with a pointed, authoritative voice that Dean was torn between smirking at, and shifting on the spot in discomfort at the heat it caused to flare in his gut, “which you should know is focused neither on good nor evil, but rather balance. This one is the Horned God, generally thought to represent masculinity, and this one is a Hecate Wheel; often associated with the moon, womanhood—sometimes the triple goddess aspect of the Crone."  

“And sometimes they just make a really cool tattoo,” Dean joked, biting back a burst of laughter for the joint disapproving looks sent his way.

“Anyway,” Sebastian said, eyes on Dean for another moment, “I hope these _symbols_ will not put you off coming to our services."

“Not at all,” Cas assured him, smiling warmly, their story of being new in the area and staying in a motel as they waited for their house sale to go through, checking out their future neighbourhood, an easy lie for him, “I merely pointed out the overturned grave dirt and the Witches Knot I’d seen on the church gate as a… passing interest."

“And we can’t convince you to come along to our services too, Dean?” Sebastian asked, turning a smile on him.

“Ah, Cas here’s the religious one,” Dean shrugged, nudging into his side.

“His faith has been tested, more than once,” Cas added, smiling at Dean fondly and nudging back. Dean shrugged easily, smiling back harder.

“Well, the church is always here should you find yourself wanting a little guidance." Sebastian replied, and Dean barely held in the scoff he wanted to give, nodding more politely instead.

“How long have you been here?” Dean asked, nodding towards the small church behind him.

“Working at this church, six years. It’s why this is so… annoying. _Unusual_ ; this is a close community, and even those who do not attend the church are respectful of those that do. Everyone knows everyone—”

“If everyone knows everyone,” Dean countered, “surely someone would notice someone else carving Wiccan symbols into everything?”

“Like I said,” Sebastian sighed, “that’s what makes it so unusual. I can only imagine it must be someone new here. Though if this has been happening for a year, they can’t be all that new. It breaks my heart a little to think this is someone I know defiling the church like this."

“It’s… not exactly _defiling_ ,” Dean protested, stopped from continuing with what else he wanted to say by the sour look Sebastian shot him.

“Either way. It is still damaging church property. _Stealing_ church property, if you think of it; that dirt from the grave—”

“Would surely _belong_ to the family of the person residing in the grave,” Cas finished for him with a raised eyebrow. “And that they are tidying these headstones, leaving offerings—”

“It doesn’t make up for taking what isn’t theirs to take,” Sebastian protested, pivoting back to Cas.

“You are right,” Cas agreed, solemn with his hands raised up, “I apologize. It is merely… intriguing."

“I’d… prefer to be intrigued by something else,” Sebastian laughed, the slight annoyance on his face easing away again. “In any case; details of all our services are on the noticeboard at the church entrance, as well as on our website; I am lucky that I have volunteers that are more… computer-literate than me."

“I will look,” Cas agreed with a slight nod.

“Perhaps you will find time to attend a service while you are waiting for your house to be ready,” Sebastian added, with obvious hope in his voice, to which Cas nodded again with an easy smile.

“So, uh, we gotta go,” Dean said then, looking at his cell and pointing his thumbs over his shoulder, “got some… people to meet. Realtors, that kinda thing."

“They do say house moving is one of the most stressful experiences we can have as an adult,” Sebastian smiled, “I hope it goes smoothly for you."

Dean nodded back, and the three of them exchanged a few more words before Dean wrapped his arm around Cas’ waist and tugged, turning them to leave.

“What do you think, Cas?” he asked, the moment they were out of earshot.

“I think a better priest might be able to tell the difference between symbols with evil intent, and Wiccan ones,” Cas retorted with an indignant huff, leaning a little more into Dean’s side.  

“Good point."

“And we have a timescale,” Cas added, pointing out another of the Witches Knots carved into a sign, “at least, we know that the witch has been operating for approximately one year. That perhaps they are a newer resident; I suppose it is unlikely a resident that had been here longer would suddenly start taunting their local church in this way."

“Makes sense,” Dean agreed, squeezing Cas into him and pressing a kiss to his temple, “see? You’re a natural at this."

***

“Eat."

“Dean—”

“Cas,” Dean blurted out in exasperation, lifting the sample of pie to Cas’ lips and doing his best to glare at him until he huffed out in complaint and accepted the piece in his mouth. “I love you, man, but you’re a grumpy bastard when you haven't eaten."

“I am not—”

“Cas,” Dean snorted, spreading his hands wide on Cas’ waist and leaning in to kiss him, “trust me. You’re a grump."

“I—”

“You’ve been snapping at me ever since we left the church about being _tired_ , and needing _something sweet_. We’ve barely walked an hour—”

“But—”

“Cas,” Dean grinned, kissing him quiet, holding on until he felt Cas’ shoulders slump in reluctance, and his arms lift up to loop around him. “I’m sure you’ll be telling me all my bad habits by the end of—”

“I would never—”

“Cas,” Dean cut him off again, the indignance in Cas’ voice making it really hard to kiss him for how hard he was laughing. But Cas seemed to be more than happy to be kissed, and so they lost themselves to that for a few moments forgetting that there was anyone else around.

“Hello."  

Dean and Cas pulled apart at a cheerful, carrying voice calling their attention, both nodding in cautious greeting and taking a half step back from one another to be polite.

“Sweet or savory?”

Dean looked down at the tray held out towards them, thin slices of lemon drizzle cake to the left and small chunks of cheese to the right, and took one of each, nodding in thanks, and immediately holding them out for Cas to eat. Cas glared for all of a second, grabbing Dean’s wrist and raising it to eat the cheese from his fingers, leaving Dean’s breath rattling in his throat.

“I’m Tyler,” continued their sample provider, looking between the two of them in amusement, “I run the Maples Cafe in the garden center."

“Dean. And this is my boyfriend, Cas."

“I couldn’t help notice new faces,” Tyler added, continuing to look at them both in interest.

“You got us,” Dean smiled easily, squeezing his arm low around Cas’ waist, “we’re new here. Waiting for our house sale to go through; thought we’d come check the place out."

“And we heard about this farmers market, and were… interested,” Cas added, “particularly in the cooking demonstration."

“Then you came here at just the right time,” Tyler smiled, “we had a good turnout. We all take in turns to do the cooking demo; you got Bryan on today,” and the three of them turned watch the demonstration beginning as a polite crowd began to form around the stall.

“Since we’re new here and all, maybe you can point some people out to us,” Dean suggested, waving a vague arm towards the crowd, the sound and smell of sizzling meat calling more people in—including Dean.  

“Well let’s see,” Tyler smiled, turning and looking around themselves, “so Bryan’s our local family butcher, second generation. I can remember my grandparents taking me to his store as a kid. He used to keep this bowl full of candies on the counter for us to help ourselves, but of course, we’re not allowed to do stuff like that anymore."

“Doesn’t sound all that hygienic,” Dean laughed, wrinkling up his nose in distaste.

“No,” Tyler agreed, smiling, “we do live in a more pristine, germ-phobic world today."

“Dean does not like germs,” Cas leaned in to tell them as though in confidence, smiling to himself at Dean’s expression.

“Yeah, well, who does?”

“Anyway,” Tyler said, looking between the two of them in amusement, “we had the Nicholson’s move in about eighteen months ago,” they added, gesturing to a couple Dean guessed were in their mid-forties towards the back of the crowd, “and the Jacob’s got here a couple months back. That’s Chris there,” they said, pointing to a tall man who waved when he saw he was being pointed at. “He’s our mailman, actually."

“So there’s a few new people,” Dean nodded, watching Chris walk closer to the stall to snatch up a sample and walk away with a pleased smile on his face.

“I mean, maybe a handful,” Tyler shrugged, “thing is, we’re… there’s only around 1500 of us around here, and you get to—you get to know everyone around. So when there’s new faces, they tend to stand out."

“Anyone standing out for you?” Dean asked, “like, anyone we should be aware of? Or, I don’t know. Get to know?”  

“Depends what you want. What you’re interested in,” Tyler shrugged, “there’s a group of us who go out on weekends; hiking, cycling, that kind of thing."

“Any running groups?” Dean asked, squeezing his arm around Cas’ waist, “Cas here’s talking about ‘bout taking up running when we get settled."

“We do,” Tyler nodded, smiling at Cas, “you’ll want to speak to Vince; he’s the one that organises it. Vince owns Betty’s."

“Betty’s. The diner?”

“That’s the one."

“We’ll… guess we can head in there for lunch or something tomorrow and ask around. And your cafe, of course,” Dean added easily, snagging up another slice of the lemon cake.

“And there’s Gerard,” Tyler continued with a nod towards a man crouched down and laughing in delight as a Labrador puppy tried its best to crawl into his lap, “he’s sort of new. I mean he’s _not_ ; more like, moved back here. Gerard’s our vet. Went away to study, met someone, relationship broke down, moved back home."

“I would like a pet,” Cas announced, watching the puppy in affection, “when we have settled in, of course."

“Yeah, ‘course you would,” Dean agreed, squeezing him again.

“And there’s… Sylvia’s our new florist,” Tyler added, looking around them as though searching for Sylvia but not finding her. “Sylvia’s been in town about six months,”

“I am also looking forward to having a garden,” Cas added, leaving Dean wondering how much of what he was saying was an act for the case, and how much of it was things he truly wanted for himself at some point. Told himself not to let his imagination get away from him.

“That’s Tim,” Tyler pointed out then, towards a small stall a few down from where the demo was taking place with one man almost propped up on the makeshift counter, and the guy serving—presumably Tim—carefully edging the free samples back away from him as he dramatically waved a hand, “he owns the little craft beer place down in the center."

“You guys really do know everyone else’s lives, huh?” Dean snorted, wondering what it must be like to live in a community where nothing was private. Wondering what it might be like to have a base somewhere, that he’d created, that he’d chosen to be in without any external forcing. With Cas—  

“Like I said; not that many of us here. The local grocery store gets a new brand of ice cream, we all know about it. Don’t stop _talking_ about it,” Tyler said, shrugging again as they cut Dean off from his spiralling thoughts.

“Hey,” Dean laughed, “now, if we were talking pie, I’d be sold."

“Charlie owns our bakery,” Tyler smiled, “not here today on account of a huge wedding he’s catering for, but, I think you’ll approve."

“We’ll take a look tomorrow."

“We were at the church earlier,” Cas added then, after nudging at Dean to watch Bryan dipping chicken strips into a seasoned batter, “there were various… _symbols_ carved around it that did not… belong."

“A few around the town too,” Dean added, squeezing Cas closer to him, “got us some kinda graffiti problem, or something?”

“Oh, no,” Tyler laughed, waving a dismissive hand and smiling, “no, nothing like that."

“Then what?”

“I guess we… I didn’t even realise they stood out enough for people to notice,” Tyler shrugged, “maybe they just blend into the background because I’m used to seeing them here?”

“So they’ve… they’ve always been in the town? The, uh… I think they’re called Witches Knots?” Dean checked, stepping forward to make room for a woman coming through with a stroller, who carefully steered it one-handed so she could raise her hand in a high-five with Tyler in passing.

“I think so,” Tyler nodded, drumming their fingers on their rapidly emptying tray, “if you mean the thing that looks like a Spirograph creation that got interrupted before it got good, yeah. I think I remember them when I was in school here."

“And… the priest there—”

“Seb,” Tyler added for Dean, smiling.

“Yeah, him. He says there’s been like… someone stealing grave dirt, and… I don’t know; I think I overheard earlier something about him saying he was cursed?”

“When he lost his voice mid sermon and decided to blame it on the occult?” Tyler laughed, rolling their eyes in dismissal. “Sebastian has always had a flair for the dramatic."

“So you know him pretty well?” Dean asked, hoping for more details.

“Well enough,” Tyler nodded, “I mean, we didn’t have the same friends or anything, but he and I were in high school together. I knew Sebastian back when he _wasn’t_ this holier-than-thou pious _preacher_. He was one of our school bullies."

“Seriously?” Dean laughed, groaning.

“Seriously. And trust me; I hope he greeted you better as newcomers than he used to do back in school."

Dean raised an eyebrow without saying a word, waiting for Tyler to continue.

“Like… stole lunches, heads down toilets, shoved into lockers head first; that kind of greeting."

“Good thing the church don’t have any lockers then, right?” Dean laughed.  

“For your sakes,” Tyler agreed, echoing that laugh.  

“I would like to look around,” Cas announced softly, nudging into Dean’s side, then towards the stand where Bryan was holding out a tray of those chicken strips to sample, suggesting he try some.

“And I best get these handed out and get back to my own stall,” Tyler added, “got my Mom watching over it; I expect at least one catastrophe to be reported the second I get back."

The three of them exchanged a few more words, then Tyler was turning away, and Dean was stepping forward grabbing up another of the strips for them both, smiling as Cas complained about his being too hot.

***

“Have you heard from Sam?”

Dean turned back from peering out the window to Cas returning from the bathroom, boots and socks in his hand as he flexed his toes against the carpet.

“Not yet,” Dean said, shaking his head as he turned back to him, “figure… it’s what; eighteen, nineteen hours to get there from the bunker if he drives without a break—I guess he’ll only be stopping for gas. Then however long he needs to be there. Same back; I sent him a message to let me know how he’s doing but… I guess we just wait."

“I’m looking forward to meeting Eileen,” Cas smiled, dropping his things down to the floor on his side of the bed.

“She’s all kindsa awesome."  

“Sam has always spoken highly of her. I hope he hasn’t forgotten all the ASL he learned."

“If he has, he’ll pick it up in no time,” Dean smiled, “even quicker for having her there with him."

“He is a quick study,” Cas agreed, “you both are."

“I barely remember anything he taught me,” Dean laughed, shaking his head, and screwing his face up in concentration lifting his hands to try forming the few things he did remember.

Cas reached out to adjust a thumb, angle a wrist, beaming at him with a smile bordering on proud. “I would be happy to show you some more."

“What, ASL, or…?” Dean asked, winking, his heart thumping for Cas’ laughing smile.

“Whatever you would prefer, Dean,” Cas replied, stepping closer with his fingers immediately pressing beneath Dean’s t-shirt.  

“I… all of it,” Dean shrugged, shuffling closer, reaching without hesitating for his waist.

“We did agree we would spend a couple of hours together here,” Cas pointed out, smoothing his hands up Dean’s chest, thumbs swirling circles into his skin.

“We did."

“And there is no hurry for us to be going anywhere else."

“All the time in the world,” Dean agreed with a hard swallow.

“So, right now could be the perfect time for that,” Cas added, slipping his hands back out and tugging on Dean’s open shirt, nodding so he knew to take it off.

“And what would you… any thoughts on what you wanna do for these couple hours?” Dean asked, throat clicking, the question pointless given the intent so clearly written in Cas’ eyes.  

“Something involving a lot less clothing for us both,” Cas replied, fingers back under Dean’s t-shirt and pushing it up, humming in approval as Dean tugged it over his head.  

“I think I could be up for that, Cas,” Dean mumbled back at him, already pulling at Cas’ shirt for him to take it off. His eyes were drawn immediately to his new tattoo, that he pressed gentle fingers around the edge of for a moment, looking Cas in the eye to check he was feeling okay.

“Good."

“Can we, uh… can we do something, Cas?” Dean whispered, his mind clouded with images of all the things they’d yet to do with one another, and an ache that spoke of his need for Cas.

“Of course,” and on Cas’ reply Dean leaned in for a soft kiss, then squeezed his arms telling him to wait, and jogging through to the bathroom, snatching up the lube from his toiletries bag.

“So, uh… I—with this, we could… you know. It makes things easier to—”

“I know what this is _for_ , Dean,” Cas smiled in amusement, looking down at the lube then back up at his face.

“I mean… we don’t have to,” Dean said the moment he returned to Cas, hesitating before shoving the bottle into his hand. “There’s no hurry, and I mean, we don’t have to do this ever if you don’t want—”

“Why would I not want to be intimate with you?” Cas asked, surprised, raising his eyes slowly from the lube to Dean’s face.

“I don’t know, Cas. I just thought… I was thinking… I—”

“Every single way there is for us to find pleasure with each other, I want to do with you, Dean."

Dean’s stomach gave an uncomfortable jolt but he crowded forward automatically, raising his hands to cup Cas’ face as he kissed him, and walking him backwards until his legs were bumping against the bed. “I want the same. I wanna do you as well. Everything; I mean I want—”

“Dean,” Cas smiled, cutting him off and reaching out for his belt buckle, “you are stuttering. And you are blushing. I think seeing you _flustered_ is going to become one of my favorite things."

“Yeah, well,” Dean bit back, though had to swallow a couple of times to get anything out, “this is kind a big deal."

“Everything intimate thing we have already done together— _will_ do together, is a _big deal_ , Dean,” Cas told him, fingers still working open his belt, button sliding down his fly as Dean stood there a little dumbstruck. “I have thought about being with you in multiple ways, multiple times."

“Me too, Cas,” Dean replied, shakily reaching out himself to begin helping Cas out of his jeans.

“I believe I have already mentioned that I am _yours_ ,” Cas added, shoving down his jeans and boxers to step out of and kick them away, and holding Dean up as he did the same.

“Same, Cas,” Dean agreed, nodding, sweeping his hands down Cas’ sides and pulling him closer, “same."

“Then yes, Dean; I want this with you,” Cas told him, leaning back a fraction to spread his hand wide on his chest and sweeping down, fingers out and wrapping around his stirring cock.

“How—how’d you want this, Cas? I mean, right now? This time?”

“I want what you want,” and Cas backed up his words with a kiss that made it difficult for Dean to form any kind of answer because of the swirl of pleasured heat beginning to rise in his gut, and the feel of Cas’ mouth against his own.

“That’s—that’s no answer, Cas,” he stuttered out, though widening his stance a little as Cas gripped him harder, mumbling to himself and letting his head fall to Cas’ shoulder.

“It is,” Cas argued, smiling, beginning to mouth at his neck, “you used to think about so many things with me, Dean. So many—”

“I did. Still do, Cas,” Dean gasped out, dropping his gaze to watch Cas’ hand on him.

“You used to imagine what it would be like if I used my angel strength to… _take_ you. Against the wall. The Impala. Anywhere I could hold you up—”

“Cas—”

“Perhaps once I am stronger we can try that,” Cas added, mouthing harder at Dean’s neck as he altered his grip, twisted his palm up over his head, leaving Dean’s knees feeling like they might collapse from underneath him.

“Any way you want, Cas—”

“Here. This bed. You,” Cas growled back at him, and with another nudge Dean was on his back, reaching out where he could get to for the flurry of kisses peppered over his chest, Cas’ grip on him not faltering for a second, even as he nudged Dean’s knees apart and straddled to rut against his leg.  

“Want you, Cas,” Dean pleaded, whimpering as Cas nipped at his pulse point, reached for the lube he’d thrown against the sheets then arranged Dean’s legs how he wanted them, falling between and shuffling down the bed.  

Cas nudged his cheeks apart then, circling a fingertip over Dean’s hole and humming in approval at Dean’s gasp. And then he was sliding that finger in, mouthing and licking up his length, angling his wrist so he could work his fingers into him deeper. Dean gripped hard against his inner thighs, holding himself open for Cas, groaning out in encouragement and urging him for more, his eyes following every lick, every suck, every twist of Cas’ fingers, determined not to miss a moment of what Cas was doing to him.

“Are you ready, Dean?” Cas called out, his voice gravelly with his own need, humming against his shaft as Dean managed to choke out a _yes_. And Dean’s eyes were kept busy again, this time for Cas kneeling up, pouring more lube on to his hand to slick himself up with, the soft moan punching from his mouth at the feel of it making Dean’s stomach ripple just from seeing.

Cas spread his hands wide over Dean’s cheeks, thumbing him open, tilting his head back to look and shuddering, then shuffling forward to line himself up. Dean trembled at the hard press against him, holding his breath and watching Cas sink into him inch by inch, groan out hard when he was fully seated, then stare down at Dean open-mouthed.

“Dean,” he groaned out, stirring his hips in small circles telling Dean how much he was holding back, “are you okay?”

Dean smiled, gesturing for Cas to get closer, arching up for a kiss the moment he toppled forward, looping his arms around his back. “Feel good, Cas,” and Cas took it as invitation; leaning down for that kiss then looking down between them as he withdrew from Dean, sliding back in faster with a punched out groan.  

Cas settled against him, braced on his forearms, smiling down at Dean in no hurry, monitoring every change of expression and rewarding each with a kiss. “Is this when you tell me that this is long overdue?” Cas asked, with a more languid roll of his hips that left them both moaning.

“You know it is,” Dean replied, bracing his feet better against the bed to roll up beneath him, one hand through the back of Cas’ hair and the other in claim on his lower back. And as far as Dean was concerned, that was more than enough words, concentrating instead on the drag of Cas inside him, and the heat flaring out in his gut.

Cas’ kisses for him were continuous, pausing only to duck and nuzzle against his cheek, or nip at his ear, his face never without a smile. And the ease of them together, the effortless way they kissed, laughed, murmured encouragement or voiced out loud how good they felt, only confirmed to Dean they really had waited too long. That they would have to do a lot of making up for lost time.  

“I can hear you thinking, Dean,” Cas said softly, a thumb out at his temple and stroking before he raised himself up enough to slip his hand down between them to wrap around Dean’s length.

“Oh yeah?” Dean gasped out, arching into his hand, then rocking back on him. “What am I thinking?”

“That this is exactly what we both needed."

“You’re not wrong, Cas."

“I know,” Cas agreed, adjusting a little more and driving into him harder, his pace faltering while trying to concentrate on two things at once and the pleasure rippling across his face spoke of how much control he was exerting.

“I can do that,” Dean said, tapping the back of his hand against Cas’ side so he’d know to drop his grip, immediately replacing it with his own as Cas braced better against the bed and rolled his hips harder still. And then Dean could barely concentrate; not with the view above him, the growl punching from Cas’ lips, the slap of skin against skin and the tension rippling up Cas’ arms, arching when Cas ground into him and threw his head back as he came.

Dean arched up to meet him, shuddering at the breathy gasp Cas blasted out as he kneeled back, then braced his hands on Dean’s thighs, his shoulders rising and falling in exertion as he smiled tiredly back at him. And with a careless flick of his fingers he batted Dean’s hand away, replacing it with his own and working him hard until Dean was calling out soundlessly, glancing down at the splattered mess over his own chest, then dropping his head back with a tired groan.

Cas gripped him lightly around his waist, angling back to watch as he slid into him a couple more times, then pulled out, sweeping soothing hands up over Dean’s thighs, gently pushing them flat against the bed.  

“C’mere,” Dean slapped his hand down on the bed for Cas to join him, arching up into a tired kiss as Cas slumped down beside him. “Think you wanna take a shower with me in a bit?”

Cas grumbled, wriggling into his side, then nodding in reluctant agreement against his shoulder. “Perhaps in a few minutes."

“No hurry, Cas,” Dean smiled, tangling their fingers together in the small gap between them and leaning in for another kiss. Cas smiled in answer, rolling a little so he was leaning on him, one arm curled low around Dean’s hip to avoid the mess cooling on his chest.

“Your idea of us _holing up_ here for two days sounds even more pleasurable now,” Cas teased, kissing at his shoulder.

“Maybe we can do that after this case."

“Dean?”

“Take a couple days somewhere, just us,” Dean replied, already imagining all kinds of possibilities for them to be alone, “‘sides; bunker’s gonna be a bit crowded with the four of us."

“You mean, you would like to give Sam and Eileen space, while we in turn have some time to ourselves,” Cas translated for him with a smirk into his shoulder.

“That too."

“I have no objection."

“Oh, well that’s good,” Dean huffed, pretending to be offended. Cas gave another disgruntled wriggle against him and angled up for another kiss, nuzzling at his jaw before pulling back.

“I would like that,” Cas amended, raising an eyebrow, then narrowing his eyes at Dean’s snort of laughter.

“Then we’ll do it,” Dean nodded, stretching to kiss him again, “soon as we’re free." nudging for Cas to shift back so he could sling his arm around him, and smiling as he settled his head on his shoulder.

“Dean."

“Yeah, Cas."

“You called me your _boyfriend_."

Dean screwed his eyes up tight, telling his cheeks they were not heating up, and kissed the top of his head again. “Yeah. Yeah, I did, Cas."

“I… was not expecting that you would."

“Because you don’t think you are?” Dean asked, his stomach sinking, already bracing against hearing something he didn’t want to hear.

Cas raised himself up to kiss him hard, glaring at him in indignance before settling back down. “I did not expect that… the words to come so easily for you, Dean."

“What else am I gonna call you?”

“I was not _considering_ that you should call me something else."

“Then—”

“I was merely surprised that you would say that, out loud, to people… as an introduction,” Cas continued, turning his head to kiss his shoulder again.

“Cas… I don’t know what… after everything we’ve been through, you think I wanna hold back for a second on getting the chance to tell people you’re _mine_?”

Cas turned his head slow to press his chin into his shoulder, observing him in pleased silence for a moment before stretching up once again to be kissed. “I love you, Dean. You _are_ mine."

“I know that, Cas,” Dean agreed, squeezing an arm around him, nuzzling into his hair and enjoying the peace of them laid together with no hurry to be going anywhere.

“What are you thinking about what Tyler told us earlier at the farmer’s market?” Cas asked after a while, reminding Dean of the small haul of food now sitting in their fridge, and how they’d definitely worked up an appetite for it.

“Like… with Sebastian?”

“With all of it."  

“Well,” Dean began to say, kissing the top of Cas’ head, “I mean. If these symbols have been around since they were in school, gotta be, what… twenty years or something?”

“I suppose."

“So if they’re not new, that mean our witch has been here a while too? Or someone’s moved in to the area and seen them, added to them, whatever? Got no idea."

“Perhaps we should find reason to speak to everyone Tyler mentioned."

“Maybe,” Dean agreed, squeezing Cas too him, “maybe. Who’re we starting with?”

“You have no preference?”

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean smiled, kissing the top of his head again and then grimacing as he started to move for that mess on his chest, “don’t wanna hone your hunting skills?”

“Do you already have an idea on who you would like to speak to first?” Cas asked with suspicion in his voice as he too began to slide his way off the bed, following Dean through to the bathroom.

“Like you said; got a few people we could start with."

“I would like to speak to Gerard,” Cas announced, watching Dean as he started the shower, running an absent hand up his back as they waited for the water to warm.

“Because?”

“Because he is both new, and not new here,” Cas replied decisively, leaving Dean smiling to himself.

“Oh?”

“If he is new in the area, that would fit with the timescale suggested by Sam’s research. And if he is also not new, perhaps he knows the history of the area, has history with Sebastian, the politician, the headmaster at the school; perhaps even is responsible for both the new and old Witches Knots."

“See, Cas?” Dean replied, turning and kissing him in reward and holding a hand out to help him step into the shower. “Exactly, what I was thinking."

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Anyone following along on Tumblr might have noticed this: the original population size I put at 500, when it should have been 1500: the neighbourhood/neighborhood here is very loosely based on Grandview Plaza in Junction City, Kansas, as per their stats on the Wikipedia page for it :D forgive me and my typos and thank the three people looking over this for me :D :D x
> 
> [(link)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grandview_Plaza,_Kansas)


	13. Chapter 13

“Hey, Eileen."

Dean waved at the laptop screen taking in her sleepy expression, the half-wave in answer to his own more enthusiastic one, and swallowed hard for the realisation that Eileen was really there in front of him.

“Hey,” she croaked back, giving a tired smile, and seeing her yawning had Dean yawning as well. She was pale, the brightness that usually danced in her eyes was missing, and from the redness around them Dean knew without a doubt meant that many tears had been recently shed.

“Pretty stupid question to ask how you’re doing, huh?”

Eileen smiled a little harder and nodded, her eyes then dropping closed.

“Listen,” and Dean watched as Sam grabbed the laptop to spin and speak himself, “she’s pretty out of it. Real tired; I just wanted to let you know we got back here, so—”

“So rest up—both o’ you; did you even take a break?”

“Not really,” Sam admitted, badly disguising his own yawn, that same redness around his eyes as well. Dean ached for what Sam had been through, as much as he was excited for what having Eileen back would mean to him, but didn’t have the words ready to say out loud.

“So rest. We’ll talk later,” Dean told him, turning the laptop so Cas could wave as he returned with two cups of coffee smuggled up from the lodge’s breakfast.

“Dean. It had to be—”

“Ketch. And those other British bastards,” Dean finished for him, taking in Sam’s pinched expression, and knowing if there was any chance of Sam being able to take revenge—anyone left for him to take it out on, then he would find them. With Dean—and Cas—firmly by his side. “We’ll deal, okay? Just… rest up, Sammy."

“I’m… yeah, we’re gonna sleep,” Sam sighed, turning a little and his expression softening for looking at Eileen already asleep. “You guys doing okay?”

“Don’t even think about it,” Dean told him with a dismissive wave of his hand, “everything’s good here; you concentrate on getting Eileen better, and just… we’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam agreed, waving once himself then reaching out and ending their call.     

Cas slid Dean’s coffee in front of him on the table and bent down to kiss his cheek, leaning against Dean when he tilted his head back to look at him and smiling as he leaned it against his stomach.

“It will be good to see them both,” he sighed, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders, leaving Dean to sink back into his warmth.

“Yeah, it will,” Dean agreed, and Cas held him in silence, aware of the moment he needed after speaking with Sam.

“Are you ready for breakfast?” Cas asked then, draining his coffee and pointedly looking at Dean’s.

“Not gonna get cranky on me again ‘cos you haven't eaten, are you, Cas?” Dean teased, rising to his feet and taking slow sips of his own coffee as he stared at Cas over the lip of with a smile.

“Were your first words spoken to me this morning, not, _I’m not getting out of this bed without coffee_?” Cas retorted, raising an eyebrow at him.

“That’s not—I didn’t mean you had to go _get_ me coffee,” Dean protested, lowering the cup from his mouth.

“Yet you were also making no effort to move,” Cas pointed out, gripping his thumb and finger around Dean’s wrist to encourage him to raise the cup again.

“I—”

“Pet Haven, the veterinarian's office Gerard works at, opens at nine,” Cas continued, watching Dean lift his cup back up to his mouth. “The waitress preparing coffee just told me. And since we have no pets, perhaps we should find a reason to be passing by there when he arrives for work."

“Sounds good—”

“Which means, Dean, that we should have breakfast. Now,”

Dean’s stomach gave an excited flop at the tone in Cas’ voice, leaving him draining his cup, stealing a kiss, and nudging against Cas in passing to head for their breakfast.   

***

“Hey, Cas. What’s the Eye of Horus got to do with caring for your pets?”

Dean squeezed Cas’ hand and pointed at the large Eye of Horus forming part of the sign for Pet Haven, and turned to look at him.

“Well, for ancient Egyptians, the Eye of Horus was a symbol of protection, royal power, and good health."

“And they did like cats,” Dean shrugged, his gaze sweeping over the rest of the unassuming front of the veterinarian's office and nodding.

“They did,” Cas agreed with a fond smile, “and the Eye was said to have been personified in the goddess _Wadjet_ , which derives from the word _wadj_ , meaning _green_ ; hence _the green one_."

“Wasn’t _the green one_ known as _uraeus_ by the Greeks and Romans?”

“Yes,” Cas told him, that fond smile turning firmly to Dean, “this symbol has always represented protection, throughout many periods, and for many cultures; it is therefore quite appropriate that the Eye Of Horus is also a Wiccan symbol for that same reason."

“And the ankh,” Dean added, pointing one out in the sign as he noticed it, “life, or eternal life, right?”

“Correct."  

“So our vet here’s either a fan of Egyptology—”

“Or perhaps practices Wicca. Or both,” Cas finished for him, pulling Dean back a little as a truck with _Pet Haven_ emblazoned on the side came to a stop beside them.

“Guess we’ll find out,” Dean replied, nudging against him and watching as a stocky, red-haired man stepped out the truck, smiling at them both in curiosity.

“Can I help you?” he asked, reaching back in and dragging out a satchel that he threw over his neck and adjusted, turning only enough to slam the door closed behind him.

“Uh, yeah, we—”

“We are new to the neighborhood,” Cas replied smoothly, cutting Dean off and stepping forward with a confidently extended hand, “we were walking by, and I noticed the Egyptian symbology in your sign. I was curious."

“You were at the farmer’s market yesterday,” Gerard replied, his smile warming in recognition, reaching out and gripping Cas’ hand to shake before doing the same with Dean’s as he introduced them both.

“We were,”

“You stick around for Bryan’s pork strips in that barbecue sauce?” Gerard asked, nodding towards the clinic's door and gesturing for them to follow.

“I think I ate about six of ‘em,” Dean laughed, as he and Cas followed him inside, his eyes sweeping over the neutrally decorated waiting room with posters about worming, pet funerals, and puppy care adorning one wall, and photos of presumably local pets on the other.

“He always has the best turnout when he’s demo-ing,” Gerard agreed, heading over to the corner of the room and crooning at a fat, tan hamster that barely rolled over at the hand reaching in the cage to tickle its tummy before dropping in a handful of food.

“It was all delicious,” Cas agreed, walking over to the hamster with his eyes wide with delight.

“So, uh, we didn’t mean to just… barge in here,” Dean said then, conscious of their poor excuse for being there, and not knowing how long it would last—or why Gerard would invite them in so willingly without even knowing them.

“It’s fine,” Gerard said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “I don’t have any appointments till the afternoon anyway. I try to take a couple half days during the week so I can be available at weekends if there’s any emergencies."

“Are you the only vet here?” Cas asked, sounding distracted as he pressed his fingertips against the side of the cage for the now-curious hamster to sniff.

“I am,” Gerard agreed, “there’s not a lot of us here, but we’re all animal lovers, so. Keeps me busy."

“Tyler said you recently moved back here?” Dean added, watching Gerard walking through the small office space, opening up a laptop at the reception desk to reveal a heavy schedule.

“I swear,” Gerard laughed, rolling his eyes and smiling, “if you wanna spread news around here, it’s quicker to go to Tyler than to send out a group chat, or email, or something."

“You all know each other from school?”

“Sort of,” Gerard agreed, “Tyler was a Senior when I was a Sophomore in high school, and my sister Kat was a Junior. Tyler’s a real homebody, you know? Doubt they’ve ever been outside the state. Loves everyone here, knows everyone; world’s biggest gossip, but also has a heart of gold. If you ever wanna know anything, Tyler’s your first stop,”

Dean smiled in answer not knowing what to say.

“Anyway,” Gerard said then, clearing his throat and turning to Cas, “the Egyptian symbols."

“Yes,” Cas replied, coming to stand beside Dean.

“My dad caught me doodling on my homework a bunch of times when I was supposed to be doing extra math work,” Gerard said with a groan in his voice as he laughed, “all kindsa stuff, just like… random symbols. But my dad thought all the hieroglyphs meant I was interested in Ancient Egypt."

Dean watched as Gerard walked across the room again to pick up a small ornament of a pyramid, and another of what looked like an Egyptian tomb.

“I swear,” Gerard added, laughing, “I had four years in high school where Christmas meant some kinda trinket, book, or something to do with Egypt. Not that I’m _not_ interested, of course."

“It was a fascinating period in history,” Cas agreed easily, smiling to himself and making Dean want to ask a hundred questions about what he was thinking.

“And they did have excellent taste in animals,” Gerard added, crossing the waiting room again to point out a picture of a large disgruntled-looking Persian cat, “that whole thing about them worshipping cats and cats never forgetting it? I’m a cat person through and through. This is Max. It’s more like he knows I’m his human, than he’s my cat."

“He’s beautiful,” Cas said softly as he moved to join him, leaving Dean smiling to himself about exactly how fussy Cas might be with their own pets one day.

“He is,” Gerard smiled, “you got pets?”

“We’re… I mean, we will have, once we’ve moved in,” Dean replied, repeating their story about checking the area out as they waited for a house sale to go through.

“It’s a good neighborhood,” Gerard told him, “we really do look out for each other. Most of us anyway; I was living in Colorado after I graduated. Great place, but so _big_ compared to here, you know? It was… impersonal. Here, it’s like, door’s always open, whoever you are. So it was kinda nice to come back home."

“Tyler said something about you—the previous vet here—”

“I broke up with my girlfriend, came back to lick my wounds for a couple months." Gerard smiled, “lucked out; the guy who used to run this place was close to retirement. Remembered me from when I used to volunteer here when I was in high school. Sold the business to me, gave me a good reason to stick around."

“And it’s… good to be back?” Dean asked, taking in the warmth and ease in Gerard’s manner and seeing someone that was settled, confident in their life. Aching a little at the thought of having that himself.

“Best decision I could’ve made,” Gerard agreed, “I get to live close to my parents, my old school friends, keep the hours I want doing what I love. Got two nieces who I spoil every chance I get; life’s good."

“So we’re… moving to a good place,” Dean said, steering his imagination from wandering to the idea that their excuse for being there could be a real possibility for them.

“You really are,” Gerard nodded, “got everything you need here. Everyone looks out for each other. Rarely have any problems—”

“There was a thing in the paper about a local politician—”

“I’d hardly call David a _politician_ ,” Gerard snorted, his face screwing up in distaste. “He’s a miserable, bigoted, lonely old man, who still thinks women should be chained to a kitchen sink and that men should be _real men_ —whatever the hell _that’s_ supposed to mean. And that anyone that doesn’t fit his view of _American_ is going to hell. About as far from Christian as it’s possible to get, but still spouts his nonsense in the name of _God_."

“He sounds… unpleasant,” Cas settled for saying after a short pause.

“You’re not kidding,” Gerard huffed, “though, thankfully there’s only him and about three other people here with anything bordering on similar views. Believe me; you won’t have any problems here."

Dean first sucked in a harsh breath at the way Gerard’s eyes darted between him and Cas, and then relaxed enough to reach out and wrap an arm around Cas’ waist, letting that breath out again as Gerard followed the movement with nothing but a smile.

“Honestly,” Gerard added earnestly, “we’re good people here. We look out for each other. We’ve got a handful of idiots, same as anywhere, but we… it’s a good place,”

“That’s good to know,” Dean smiled, nodding back at him.

“So tell me,” Gerard said then, crossing his arms and staring back at them in open curiosity, “is yours the house on Sycamore Avenue, Brunt Way, or Deacon Drive?”

“Huh?”

“Dean,” Gerard laughed softly, “we’re _small_ here, remember? Means we know everyone that’s moving in or out, and there’s only three properties up for sale."

“Sycamore,” Dean replied immediately, his voice thankfully not stumbling.

“It’s a great place,” Gerard smiled, “your backyard more or less backs on to the park, so if you do get a cat, it’ll be free to roam, without you worrying about them wandering into a road or something."

“Sounds good,” Dean smiled.

“And the running club meets just around the corner from you, if you’re interested." Gerard added with his eyes lingering over Cas for a second, then patting himself on the stomach, “I mean, I don’t get why anyone’d willingly take to running, but—”

“Me too,” Dean laughed easily, “Cas’ll wanna, but me? Never gonna happen."

“Unless you are being chased,” Cas added for him with a nudge against his arm.

“Yeah, well, you got the Nicholson’s on the same side of the street of you,” Gerard smiled, “so you might get chased by a really enthusiastic German shepherd that thinks every person she sees wants to play tumble, but other than that, I can’t imagine too much chasing going on round here."

“Sounds perfect,” Dean agreed, feeling that it did sound a little idyllic, telling his heart not to drop at everything being a facade.

“Anyway,” Gerard said then with a quick glance at his cell, “I’ve got a couple calls I need to make so… I’m sorry to send you out, but—”

“No problem,” Dean immediately replied, extending his hand out to be shook again, “it was nice to meet you."

“You too,” Gerard agreed, accepting Cas’ hand as well, “I hope your house sale goes through soon."

“Can’t wait to move in,” Dean agreed, nodding towards the door for Cas to follow him, exchanging a few more words before heading outside.

***

“So? What do you think?”

Cas frowned slightly as he considered Dean’s question, absently swirling his thumb over the back of Dean’s hand.

“There was nothing… untoward about him."

“No. No, there wasn’t,” Dean agreed, going over their conversation with Gerard again as they made their way down the street, and not finding anything that stood out.

“The neighbourhood seems… friendly,” Cas told him, eyes darting over the houses they were passing with a look on his face Dean couldn’t interpret.

“Yeah. Yeah, it does, Cas."

“Jimmy very much liked where they lived,” Cas sighed then, a frown of contrition furrowing his brow for a second before it smoothed out again.

“Yeah. It looked… it looked nice."

“I believe the community where I—where _Emmanuel—_ lived with Daphne, it was… similar,” Cas added, avoiding Dean’s gaze.

“It… I mean, I guess it makes sense,” Dean replied, pushing back the jealousy swirling in his gut at Cas’ words and smiling in reassurance, “if… you didn’t have any memory of being _you_ , but maybe you _did_ of Jimmy, so… maybe you were drawn to that kinda environment."

“Daphne found me. I have no memory of her finding me. No memory of the events leading up to that. Everything from _before_ , of course, but—”

“Doesn’t matter now, Cas,” Dean told him, squeezing his hand, “you’re here now. ‘S all that matters."

“I suppose,” Cas agreed, turning back to looking at their surroundings.  

“You like it here, Cas?” Dean asked after a while of observing him, desperate to know what was going on in his head.

Cas turned slowly back from where he’d been watching an older brother help his kid sister ride a bike and gave Dean a small, soft smile that Dean found himself echoing without hesitation. “I do."

“It’s kinda… kinda _quiet_."  

Cas smiled again and nodded, returning to watching the children, squeezing Dean’s hand. And Dean, unable to keep his eyes off Cas for any stretch of time, noted the relaxed set of his shoulders, the ease of his jaw, the way his head turned this way and that as he took in everything around them as they walked—as he had been doing since they’d arrived. It was difficult not to then continue imagining Cas in a similar setting, and him there with Cas in that setting, and how very different their lives might be if they were no longer hunting.

“You said you… you said you didn’t always wanna hunt."

Cas hummed in agreement, still more interested in their surroundings; an excited young puppy apparently out on a leash for the first time, a group of young school children trailing their way back to class, a couple cycling past them in an idle conversation about weekend dinner plans. Simple things, that Dean had only ever had a slight taste of in his brief time with Lisa, and Cas had never really experienced at all—except for perhaps with Daphne, he amended to himself with a snarl under his breath—and it was too easy to let his mind wander to doing it all with Cas.

“So… something like this?” Dean prompted when Cas didn’t say anything else, earning another squeeze of his fingers and a nudge against his arm.

“I don’t know. Perhaps."

“You ever… but you’ve thought about it, right? Like… before all this happened—before; you thought about what it might be like to live human, Cas. Right?”

“I did."

Cas’ lack of clarification or longer answer put Dean on edge, enough to keep him silent to stew in his own thoughts, but then found himself blurting out, “with me, Cas?”

Cas turned his head once again to observe Dean, curious though smiling. “Of course."

“But like—”

“Dean,” Cas smiled, leaning in to steal a kiss that left Dean’s cheeks flaming, “I do not know what our future will look like, or how long we will hunt for, or where we will end up living. But I know for certain, that whatever future I have will be with _you_."

A lump hit Dean’s throat at the same time his eyes started stinging, but he smiled his way through it, squeezing Cas’ hand.

“I… I want that, Cas."

“I would, if possible, like to live in a place that was _ours_. With the things we like; I would like to _learn_ what things I like,” Cas amended, laughing softly to himself.

“So like… the whole pets and garden thing?” Dean checked. “That’s something you’d wanna try?”

“If we can,” Cas agreed, “if we find a place—a life—that would allow us to have those things, then I would like that very much."

“Then we will,” Dean said decisively, his heart skipping with excitement at the thought, “we will, Cas. Not… maybe not any time soon, but… one day."

Cas’ smile for him then was triumphant as he pulled him to a stop to kiss him on the corner of the street before they turned it, continuing on their walk.

***

“I booked us another couple nights."  

Cas looked up from the corner of the bed where he was reading and smiled as Dean walked across their room.

“We are no closer to solving anything,” Cas replied, humming as Dean sank down beside him and wrapped an arm around his waist, hooking his chin over his shoulder and kissing his cheek.

“It’s just not feeling like much of anything, you know?”

“You mean, because there is no obvious _big bad_ for us to confront?” Cas amended for him, nudging into his side.

“Exactly,” Dean agreed, wrapping both arms around Cas’ waist and in doing so dislodging the book from his hand—then stooping to pick it up.  

“Gerard was very adamant we knew that people here _looked out for each other_ ,” Cas added, finding his page in the book then pushing it to the bed, turning enough in Dean’s grip to be able to rest a hand on his thigh.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed with a huff, “and that everyone knows everyone’s business. Not exactly subtle?”

Cas pulled back a fraction to observe him, and after doing so for a moment nodded. “You think he was… warning us he would be watching?”

“I don’t know if I think it was all that sinister,” Dean replied, shaking his head a little, “I mean… I know we said it already, but all the _bad_ stuff that’s happened has happened to people who seemed to deserve it."

“Though we should not make that assumption."

“No, I know,” Dean agreed, pressing a kiss to his cheek, smiling when Cas raised a hand to keep him close and angled in for another kiss. “And the whole Egyptology thing? For the Christmas presents? You believe that?”

“I do,” Cas agreed, his face becoming wistful, “Jimmy had a similar memory of well-intentioned gifts that were not to his liking."

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes,” Cas nodded, his lips curving up into a smile, “Claire had the idea that not only was his favourite colour blue, but that because of his job, he preferred plain, boring ties."

“Seriously?” Dean laughed, remembering Cas’ ties all too well, even having a pang of missing them briefly.

“Yes,” Cas agreed, smiling harder, “every Christmas up until—well, up until _me_ , there would always be a tie from Claire that was… presentable, but drab."

“So I’m curious now,” Dean said, leaning in for another kiss, “Jimmy’s favorite color?”

“Green,” Cas grinned, deliberately lingering a gaze over Dean’s eyes, making him snort with laughter.

“And the… design, the… whatever; what kinda ties did he really like?”

“Bright ones,” Cas told him, “colourful ones. Ones that made him smile."

“You think you know a guy,” Dean laughed, kicking his shoes off and scooting up the bed to lay down, with Cas immediately joining him.

“We should speak to the Nicholson family,” Cas said once he was settled, his hand slipping under Dean’s shirt to press into his chest, as Dean did the same to curl around his side.

“Because of the dog?” Dean teased, earning himself a wriggle.

“Because I would like to see _our_ house,” Cas told him, smiling, “and because they are relatively new here. If we are still working on the theory that our alleged witch is new."

“Are we really, though, Cas?” Dean asked, leaning in to kiss him. “I mean—”

“We should probably speak to as many people as we can,” Cas shrugged, “especially those who are supposedly going to be our neighbours one day."

“Makes sense,” Dean agreed, wriggling a little closer, “who else?”

“I don’t know. But perhaps we should find another… community event to participate in. Or go to a place where we are likely to have the opportunity to speak to more people."

“I got an idea, Cas,” Dean said softly, rolling them without warning until Cas was on his back.

“Dean?”

“I wanna… maybe I wanna… since we’re here and all—”

“Dean,” Cas repeated with a little more force, stroking his hands wide over Dean’s back.  

Dean peppered kisses over Cas’ face to distract himself, his stomach giving an uncomfortable flip that he couldn’t ignore. “I was thinking,” he blurted out, “maybe I could… maybe I could take you out. On a date. And like… since we’re here and all—”

“Go somewhere that means we can both have a date, and investigate,” Cas finished for him with a pleased smile.

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean agreed, leaning down to kiss him, “and I know that’s all kindsa lame. And you know I’ll make it up to you when we’re done here, take you anywhere you want, on however many dates you want—”

“Dean—”

“But since we’re here and all, it kinda makes sense to—”

“Dean,” Cas laughed in exasperation, sweeping his hands down Dean’s back to slot into his jean pockets and tugging, “it is a good idea."

“It… it is?”

“Yes."

“You don’t… you don’t mind that it’s kinda… it’s kinda two things at the same—”

“You want to take me on a date, Dean,” Cas smiled, arching beneath him.

“I do, Cas,” Dean nodded, wanting to give Cas anything and everything he could. Perhaps it was because things were still so new between them, or perhaps it was because he was so aware of how much time they’d wasted in the past, but Dean didn’t wake any morning without feeling the need to _do_ something for Cas.  

“Then I am more than happy to be taken on a date,” Cas said, “it is… I have never been taken on a date before."

“I’ll take you on all the dates you want, Cas,” Dean promised, going back to peppering kisses over his face and neck.

“To do anything I want?”

“Yeah, Cas."

“Anything at all?” Cas insisted, shifting beneath him so Dean would fall in the gap between his legs, then rutting up against him.

“Whatever you want, Cas."

***

  



	14. Chapter 14

“When I said anything you want, Cas…”

Cas’ smile was gleeful as he leaned in to kiss him squeezing his hand then tugging, giving Dean no more than a couple of seconds to sweep his gaze over the sign for the community center and groan internally to himself.  

The noticeboard in Pet Haven with the photos of local pets had also had a smaller section of local flyers. Though Dean hadn’t paid too much attention to their details, Cas apparently had, announcing with a distracting stirring of his hips beneath Dean’s that he would like to attend the advertised salsa lesson, declaring it not only ticked the boxes of _date_ , and _investigating_ , but also that it was that very night.

Dean hadn’t objected, far too preoccupied with Cas’ hands sweeping beneath his shirt to lift it off, and the thought of giving Cas something he wanted. But being all but dragged through the tiny building into what looked like a poorly maintained school gym, to be greeted by a group of curious pairs of eyes staring back at them, left Dean wanting to bolt.

“You’re just in time."

Dean’s heart gave a nervous flutter as a couple—obviously the class leaders—beckoned them closer and welcomed them in with a warm smile. He fumbled over an introduction to the group while gripping his arm around Cas’ waist probably far tighter than necessary to anchor himself.

“So,” the woman teaching—Cynthia, announced, “we’ll have our leaders on this side of the room with Deacon, and the followers can come to this side with me."

“Uh…” Dean stumbled out, not liking either prospect.

“You should lead, Dean,” Cas told him solemnly, with a wicked glint in his eye as he leaned in to kiss him without warning, “it is you who wanted to take me on a date."

A handful of amused peals of laughter rang out around them, and Dean argued with his cheeks against blushing, squeezed Cas’ fingers as they pulled apart, then reluctantly followed the other leaders and Deacon, shooting a nervous smile to the man coming to a stop beside him.

“Tim,” he whispered, nodding, smiling as Dean introduced himself, “first salsa class?”

“Yeah,” Dean huffed, his heart giving an awkward thump, “yeah, I… I’m not much of a dancer."

“It’s pretty easy,” Tim replied, seeming to want to reassure him, “and it’s a great way to meet people—not that you’re here to meet people,” he added, nodding over towards Cas, who was smiling in greeting to the others around him. “And not that that’s why I’m here, either,” Tim added, eyes blowing a little wider and his cheeks flushing.

“I—“

“Or that’s the only reason to be here. Anyway,” Tim smiled, rolling his eyes at himself, “it’s fairly easy to pick up."

“I’ll… take your word for it,” Dean replied, not able to keep the doubt from his voice.

“Well, none of us are all that experienced, if that makes you feel any better,” Tim smiled, “this class has only been running for a couple of months. Although Sylvia seems to be a natural,” he added, pointing over to a dark haired, elegant-looking woman, who saw Tim pointing in her direction and waved across the room.

“Sylvia’s the florist round here, right?” Dean asked, trying to remember all that Tyler had told them at the farmer’s market.

“She is,” Tim agreed with a warmer smile, “her store’s right next to mine."

“And you’re the… brewery guy,” Dean added, watching Tim let his head fall back in laughter.

“Let me guess,” he smiled, “you’ve already met Tyler."

“Uh…”

“Town gossip, faster than Google, like our very own walking talking noticeboard,” Tim continued, rolling his eyes affectionately.

“Uh… yeah."

“Yes,” Tim nodded, “I’m the brewery guy. Store’s called _Tim’s_ ; highly original, I know."

“Hey,” Dean shrugged, stumbling to a stop when Deacon stepped forward to position him how he wanted, and scowling at Cas as he smiled at him in teasing from across the room, “if you brew good beer, that’s all that matters, right?”

“You should come by,” Tim smiled, “you and…?”

“Cas. My, uh, boyfriend,” Dean added, unexpectedly feeling a thrill in his stomach for being able to use that word. “We will,” then immediately snapped his head back round in contrition at Deacon’s cleared throat and pointedly raised eyebrow.

“Okay,” Deacon announced with a loud clap of his hands, “we’ll start with a warm up. And for that we’ll start with the basic mambo step."

Dean watched Deacons’ feet as he moved, already sure he was going to be falling over his own, looked up just enough to catch Cas following Cynthia’s instructions with the most serious expression on his face, and groaned internally as he had done on the way in.

The warm up was, thankfully, less complicated than Dean had been fearing, though he couldn't even think about the arm flourishes that some of the people in his group were doing without blushing in second-hand embarrassment. And he was very glad to be able to cross the room to gravitate towards Cas, shoulders dropping in relief at getting his arms around him. But when they were arranged in a circle, and he heard the news that they would learn part of the steps with their current partner then continue to move round so they got to dance with everyone, and Dean was clinging on to Cas’ waist tight, not liking the idea at all.

“Dean,” Cas said softly, squeezing back to let him know just how tight he was squeezing, then holding on to his fingers as they turned a little to watch the instructors perform the dance they were going to learn. It looked far too complicated, and Dean’s heart raced for it, calling him to grab Cas and make a run for it. The look of interested concentration on Cas’ face stopped him, however, and Dean allowed himself to feel resigned to an hour or so of misery.

To his horror, Cynthia pulled Dean to the middle of the group as the first person to practice with. Deacon stood behind him to guide him into place before gliding over to extend his hands to Cas. Dean’s cheeks flamed crimson, and all the ducking of his neck did nothing to hide his embarrassment—though catching the sight of Cas gracefully following the steps in the curve of someone else’s arms made his blood spike a little in indignance. When Cynthia released him, he returned to gratefully drape himself around Cas, kissing him hard with no hesitation.

His relief didn’t last long though, and with a loudly announced change of partners, Dean found himself wrapped around a short blond woman who looked just as terrified to be there as he was.

“I don’t know why I agreed to this,” she mumbled in remorse when they’d attempted a Cross Body Lead and ended up facing ninety degrees to everyone else in the group. Not improving at all in the tortuous few minutes they had to endure each other’s company.

Dean’s second partner was not much better, a man about his height, who took great joy in loudly declaring Dean's Shoulder Catches were more like shoulder shoves. His untactful, “oh, thank god,” the second another partner change was announced Dean just about contained the urge to flip him off for.

“You look just about terrified."  

Dean snorted as he held his arms out cautiously for his next partner, recognizing her a moment later as Sylvia. “Yeah, well, that’s accurate."

“Your boyfriend looks like he’s enjoying himself,” Sylvia added, nodding towards Cas, giving an impromptu twirl with his partner and beaming pleased with himself.

“Yeah,” Dean huffed, smiling and shaking his head, thinking Cas was far more graceful than he would ever be.

“It’s not that bad,” Sylvia told him sympathetically, whispering additional instructions so that this time they ended up facing the same way as everyone else.

Dean’s next partner thankfully had a sense of humor, when their Change Of Place seemed to end in more of a headlock than any kind of recognizable dance move. And the next partner, a tall brunette with a tendency to burst out laughing at everything had Dean in hysterics when their Ochos attempt was declared the worst in the room.

“I don’t think my arm’s supposed to end up there,” he laughed, when he’d moved in front of her for his part of the step, and ended up practically being hugged from behind with his arm draped tight over his own shoulder.

“No, no I’m not sure that’s how this works,” she agreed, bending over to rest her hands on her thighs as she continued to laugh hard.

“Hey,” Dean whispered in relief when he was back with Cas, gratefully accepting his kiss and pulling him in for a brief hug.

“This is fun,” Cas smiled, leaning against him for another second before stepping back and into the position Deacon was calling for.

“Yeah,” Dean huffed, “that's because you look like you know what you’re doing."

“Jimmy and Amelia enjoyed dancing,” Cas admitted, smiling, “though it is interesting to learn the follower steps rather than those to lead."

“Yeah,” Dean huffed, though his stomach did give an unexpected, excited jolt at the thought of Cas leading _him_ around a dance floor.  

Dean’s confidence grew with more repetition of the steps, earning himself a couple of high fives in passing, a wolf whistle when a misstep meant tumbling forward to brace his hands against the floor with his ass high in the air. He righted himself and gave an embarrassed bow, earning himself a holler from the brunette from across the room, and a beam from Cas.

By the time they were back with their original partners and they’d all managed a more or less successful completion of the dance to two different speed soundtracks, Dean was laughing harder than he thought he had in a long time, and enjoying himself far more than he’d imagined.

“Would you do this again?” he asked Cas, who was spinning effortlessly with the slightest change of his hand holds, and even adding some of the flourishes some of the more experienced people in the room were already using.

“Yes,” Cas agreed, smiling hard, looking so happy it took all Dean’s resolve not to lean in for another kiss, knowing if he distracted himself they’d lose the beat of the music. And knew without a doubt he wouldn't say no the next time something like this came up, if only for the look of pure happiness on Cas’ face.

When their hour-long lesson was finished, and the half hour of so-called free dancing was drawing to a close, Cas announced that he was starving.

“Sylvia and I are heading to Vince’s. Betty’s,” Tim announced then amended as he came to a stop beside Dean, retrieving their jackets from the pile, “you’re welcome to join us if you want."

“Betty’s? The diner?” Dean checked, absently reaching out to straighten Cas’ collar.

“Yeah,” Tim nodded, handing Sylvia her jacket as she joined them, “it’s… it’s always been Vince’s to me; Vince Sr. only retired a few years ago, and I still can’t get used to the name change."

“So, Betty…”

“Vince’s wife,” Tim smiled, turning to see if Sylvia was ready.

“I would like to eat everything,” Cas announced, slipping his fingers through Dean’s.

“Then… Vince’s—Betty’s—it is,” Dean agreed, and the four of them waved goodbye to the other people in the class and headed outside.

“So how are you liking it here?” Tim asked, pointing towards the diner a few steps away.

“Good,” Dean nodded, “can’t wait to move."

“Any idea how much longer you’ll have to wait?”

“Not really,” Dean sighed, circling his thumb over Cas’ hand and dropping an absent kiss on his shoulder.

“Mine took months,” Sylvia said with a roll of her eyes Dean caught in a streetlight they passed, “but I think that was because it’s a commercial and residential property."

“Sylvia lives over her flower shop,” Tim added with a small smile for Sylvia that she shyly returned.

“You lived here long, Sylvia?” Dean asked, smiling when she shook her head.

“No, not all that long."

“Maybe coming up on seven months now, almost,” Tim smiled, and the look passing between them had Dean smiling to himself at, nudging against Cas’ arm when they weren’t looking.

Tim guided them in to a red and white themed diner with the radio playing through speakers suspended in the ceiling, highly polished tables with menus and condiments arranged dead center on each of them, and a staff in matching red and white uniforms looking unhurried and cheerful.

“The burgers here are really good,” Tim said even as they all slid into their seats, leaving Dean clapping his hands in approval and snatching up a menu to look over with Cas.

“So, how’re you liking it here, Sylvia?” Dean asked, smiling across the table once they’d ordered.

“I really like it,” Sylvia enthused with an eager smile, “it’s a real community here, you know? I love that; gave up city living for something a little more laid back, and that’s exactly what I’ve found myself here."

“Seems to be a theme around here,” Dean smiled, “Gerard said almost the same thing."

“Well, it’s different for Gerard,” Tim shrugged, an even warmer smile on his face, “Gerard just came home."

“We were passing Pet Haven yesterday,” Cas smiled.

“Did you meet Thor?” Tim laughed, his eyes crinkling up in affection.

“Thor?”

“The hamster,” Tim smiled, “Gerard had the kids round here suggest names when he got him."

“Loki was thrilled,” Sylvia added, laughing harder.

“Loki’s my dog,” Tim explained, nudging against Sylvia’s arm. “Big, dumb, beautiful bull mastiff who thinks everyone wants to be his friend. Slobbers over the cage every time we go in for a check-up; not sure Thor’s too happy about it, but."

“Cas wants a cat,” Dean smiled, draping an arm around his back as they waited for their food.

“I would like any pet."  

“Any pet, but especially a cat,” Dean replied, squeezing him tighter and earning himself a disgruntled huff.

“Dean—”

“Can have whatever you want, Cas,” Dean promised, kissing his shoulder. “Just as soon as we move in."

“Which will hopefully be soon,” Cas sighed, playing his part a little too well with the wistful look he was giving him, making Dean’s stomach drop with the sudden need to have a normal life with Cas.

“You, uh… so is it… _profitable_ , being a florist?” Dean asked then, sitting back and thanking the waitress for his plate.

“I do okay,” Sylvia shrugged, “I do a little landscaping and gardening as well, so, you know. It’s enough to keep me busy."

“Maybe you can recommend some flowers when we move in, Sylvia,” Dean added, taking a moment before he could snatch his eyes away from Cas’, “Cas wants to work on the garden, so—”

“As soon as you’re moved in, come see me,” Sylvia smiled, sitting back a little as a plate was slid in front of her. “I’ll come with you to the garden center to pick some stuff out, help you find what’s best."

“Thank you."

“Sylvia gets some weird requests,” Tim added, reaching across the table for the ketchup and offering it to her.

“Like what?”

“Tim,” Sylvia chided softly with a smile as she leaned into his side.

“What?” he laughed. “I thought it’d all be weddings, funerals, and Valentine’s Day stuff for you."

“And it is,” Sylvia agreed, “most of the time."

“So…” Dean prompted, calling their attention back to him.

“Well since I got here, I… I mean, I never really got anything odd before here. But I sometimes get asked for flowers that I… well, if I didn’t know better, I’d think they were for curses, or something,” Sylvia laughed, flushing a little in embarrassment.

“Oh?” Dean asked, keeping his voice neutral even as Cas knocked his thigh against his own.

“Just like… I mean, some people believe in the properties of flowers for all kinds of things, and we used them in teas, ointments, treatments, and such historically—even today,” Sylvia continued after a slight pause. “But sometimes you just… sometimes I get the impression there’s someone here that believes in… maybe believes they’re capable of a little more than just… I don’t know. Helping you sleep, like jasmine, or with just about everything, like aloe vera."

“Like,” Tim said, eager as though he wanted to help, “didn’t you say someone wanted a delivery of plumeria seeds for the school?”

“They did,” Sylvia agreed, looking surprised that he would remember such a thing.

“And… what are they supposed to do?” Dean asked, with a fry on his fork suspended on the way to his mouth, waiting for her answer.

“Plumeria is supposed to be—if you believe in that kind of thing, of course,” Sylvia interrupted herself, eyes darting between Dean and Cas for a moment before continuing, “it’s supposed to nurture creativity, heal adolescents, protect youthfulness; that kind of thing."

“When I opened my store, I had a parcel delivered to me that contained an oak sapling,” Tim added, laughing, “which, obviously, I planted at home."

“Oak?”

“Oak is supposed to give you abundance, help you create your own luck, give you focus and long-term determination, and success in work,” Sylvia smiled, “which, you have,”   

Tim grinned bashfully back at her, ducking his head. “I still don’t know who sent me it."

“Seriously?” Dean laughed.

“And I don’t know if you’ve been by the church here yet,” Tim added, laughing a little.

“Actually, we have."

“I got asked to order nasturtium,” Sylvia said, her cheeks flaming red.

“You see those red, yellow, and orange flowers sprawled just about everywhere?” Tim asked, smiling harder still.

Dean thought back to their brief visit and decided he did half-remember, and nodded.

“Nasturtium are supposed to—to banish prejudice and encourage tolerance,” Sylvia replied, shaking her head a little.

“Seb’s had a good year of what he’s calling being _hexed_ , or _cursed_ ,” Tim smiled, rolling his eyes, “and those flowers started sprouting up right after a misunderstanding in one of his sermons about homeless people."

“What happened?” Dean asked.

“I’m only going on what I heard from my parents,” Tim replied, “but he was recalling that Christians are supposed to embrace the less fortunate, reciting things from scripture, and he just… I think he must have missed out a passage, or some words, or something, because the next morning, his name was dirt around here for it. When he isn’t like that, at all."

“In fact,” Sylvia enthused, “one of my first interactions with Seb was actually at a center that he was volunteering at—helping run a soup kitchen."

“Seb, of course, decided it was something sinister at work when the flowers started appearing,” Tim added, rolling his eyes again. “He’s such a drama queen about everything. Only weird thing about them flowers were how quickly they bloomed."

“So... who ordered the flowers? Seeds?” Dean asked, turning to Sylvia.

“Well,” Sylvia said, hesitating for a moment, “here’s the odd thing; it looked like the order came from Seb himself. His signature was on the note that was left on my counter, and with more than enough cash to cover it; in fact I mailed the seeds to the church with the leftover cash because it was too much."

“So... it wasn’t Seb,” Dean said, turning between the two of them.

“No,” Sylvia replied, shaking her head and looking embarrassed, “no; he didn’t know anything about it. I stopped him in the street to ask about his order, and he hadn’t got a clue. I guess somehow, someone intercepted the post."

“That’s... well that’s just weird,” Dean agreed.

“I also have an anonymous customer who regularly has me delivering flowers along with these little organza bags filled with… things." Sylvia added, after taking a sip of her water.

“What kinda things?”

“The last one had broken shell, seaweed, and some shards of selenite." Sylvia replied, shaking her head, “the instructions are always clear about what they want in the bouquet, the time they’re supposed to be delivered, always paid for in cash."

“How’d—how’d you get an anonymous customer like that?” Dean asked, frowning.

“Usually I arrive to find an envelope taped to the door, or… pop into the back for a second to get something then return to find one on the counter, with cash, instructions, and these bags."

“And you always deliver them,” Cas asked, sounding a little dubious, “despite knowing their contents?”

“I’ve never seen anything bad in any of them,” Sylvia laughed, “and I don’t… no offense, but… I don’t believe in witchcraft, or anything like that."

Cas nodded as though satisfied with her answer, and went back to his food.  

“Think the same person who dropped all those nasturtium seeds at the churchyard did the same at Gerard’s place too,” Tim added, swallowing around a mouthful of his food.

“Yeah?”  

“Yeah,” Tim nodded in answer to Dean, “you see all that chamomile and all those dandelions all over the place outside Pet Haven? Like the whole grass area front and back is covered in them; weren’t like that before Gerard took over."

“I… honestly didn’t notice,” Dean shrugged.

“Well,” Tim said, taking a sip of his drink, “Gerard told me when I pointed it out, said it’s kind of lucky. ‘Cos both those things are supposed to be good for animals. Like… symbolizing animal protection, or something."

Again Cas’ thigh nudged against Dean’s, and Dean reached beneath the table to rest his hand over it, squeezing in reassurance.

“Anyway,” Tim said then, smiling, “anything else you wanna know about the neighborhood for when you move in, that isn’t salsa or supposed spells?”

“Tyler mentioned a running club,” Cas replied, and Dean sat back from the conversation for a moment, listening to Sylvia’s enthusiasm for running, Tim’s disdain, and Cas’ easy contribution. Dean let his mind wander yet again to a future that allowed them to have normal things, like hobbies, and friends, and an easier life.  

***  

 _Cas is solid, warm, and whole, there right beneath his palms, smiling up at him so carefree, that it’s doing strange things to Dean’s heart. And Cas’ hands, hands that Dean’s spent a lot of time thinking about, they’re tucked up under his shirt. Spread wide against his skin in claim, the feel of those hands against Dean both new and unfamiliar._  

_“You okay, Cas?” Dean whispers, shifting a little where he’s lying between Cas’ legs on this huge, deep couch they’ve found themselves on, in a corner somewhere that he doesn’t remember visiting, but thinks it might be home. A new home, for just him and Cas._

_“Yes,” Cas replies simply, pressing his hands a little flatter to back his words up, then angling his chin up to claim another kiss._

_He can ask for all the kisses he wants, Dean thinks to himself as he leans down, the press of Cas’ lips against his own already addictive; in fact, Cas can ask anything of him at all. He’s here, he’s whole, and he’s with him, and there isn’t anything he could want that Dean won’t find a way to give him._  

_How could he not. How could he deny Cas anything? How could he ever forget that prone body laid out before him on the ground, the ash of his feathers, the stillness of his face? He can’t, Dean tells himself, shuddering at the constant memory, shuffling even closer to Cas, though that’s hardly possible considering how they’re laying._

_“I am here, Dean,” Cas tells him, stroking a soothing circle over his lower back and smiling up at him so beautifully that it catches in Dean’s throat all over again, “I intend to always be here."_

_Dean wants to ask how he always manages to read his mind. He wants to wrap Cas up in his arms and never let him out of his grip again. He wants to tell him he’s sorry, and he loves him, and he’ll spend the rest of his life doing better by him than he ever has in the past._

_But Cas is smiling at him. Warm and whole, and in this moment there is nothing else Dean either wants or needs._

_Dean leans down, closing the gap between them, intending to brush their lips together and indulge in another kiss, but Cas isn’t there beneath him. He is; but he’s that lifeless, still creature laid out in the dirt around them, wings crumbled into the very dust like crisp, fall leaves, as dead as he’s been for however many weeks, months, years he’s been gone._

_Dean gasps, sitting back on his haunches, hands pressing at Cas’ rigid chest hoping to shake him awake, or feel his heart beating, or pull himself from a terrible dream, but his fingers spear right through, down to bone, ash, crumbling flesh so desiccated it crumbles at the lightest brush of fingertips. Cas’ face is nothing but in Dean’s imagination, the image before him fading to nothing but ash, bone, empty sockets where beautiful blue eyes once stared at him from, beseeching Dean to see him, to hear him, to listen to what he couldn’t say out loud._

_“Cas?” Dean whispers, his heart pounding so hard he can barely catch a breath, bile rising in his throat upon realizing he’s straddling a corpse, little more than a skeleton, showing just how very long Cas has been gone. “Cas. C’mon, man, wake up for me. Wake up!”_

_But for every beat of his wrists against the rib cage that once encased Cas’ heart there is nothing but a dry, empty slapping sound, shaking more desiccated flesh on to the ground below._

_“You can’t be gone. You can’t be gone, Cas, you can’t be,” Dean repeats, shaking his head back and forth in denial, fingers digging into the lapels of the trench coat prone in the dirt and pleading with himself to wake up. “Cas. Cas, c’mon; come back to me, Cas. You can’t be gone. You can’t be gone. Cas—”_

“Dean."

Dean woke with a start, sitting bolt upright and grasping out for Cas, shaking hard as he pulled him into his arms and laid back down, heart protesting in its beating in his chest.

“Dean—”

“Just a nightmare, Cas,” Dean said immediately, holding on tighter, pressing repeated kisses to the top of his head, unable to stop or let go.

“I know—”

“Don’t worry about it—”

“Dean,” Cas insisted, wriggling to be released from his grip, and Dean’s protest against the movement was silenced only by Cas crawling between his legs and tucking up against him at every point possible, reaching out to bathe the room in the light from the bedside lamp that left Dean wincing, then dropping kisses over Dean’s face until his breathing evened out.

“I’m okay, Cas—”

“You were calling out, Dean,” Cas told him, shaking his head, stroking his fingers wherever he could reach, and looking down at him in such concern it pricked tears in Dean’s eyes.

“It happens—”

“You were asking me not to leave you, Dean,” Cas added, swallowing with difficulty, “you were… you thought I was dead."

“You did kinda die on me, Cas,” Dean laughed, though it came out as a choked sob, and he swept his hands repeatedly up over Cas’ back needing the reassurance of his skin beneath his palms, urging him to tuck his face into the crook of his neck, needing his closeness.

“But I’m here now—”

“I know you are, Cas—”

“Dean,” Cas said, a little more exasperated, leaning to kiss him quiet, “do you believe I will leave you?”

“No, Cas,” Dean denied, though the memories of nightmares he hadn’t shared with Cas about waking to find him gone—or worse; Cas turning round to him one day and saying that he wasn’t enough.

“Dean—”

“I’m good,” Dean smiled, squeezing around his waist, “just a dream, Cas."

“But—”

“Go back to sleep,” Dean insisted, rolling to the side so Cas had no choice but to go with him, wrapping his arms around Cas’ waist to pull him closer, and pressing kisses to the back of his neck, to reassure himself Cas was still there, eyes fixed on the back of his neck as though he might disappear otherwise into the night.  

***

“I am so sorry about this."

Dean snorted with laughter, kneeling down beside Cas as the German shepherd shoved her head hard against Cas’ chest again, and pressing a hand into his back to keep him upright.

“It’s fine."

“She is beautiful,” Cas replied, his voice full of joy, his hands running through thick glossy fur and all but scooping the dog up into his lap. Dean wanted to give him a dog, wanted to give him a house, wanted to give him the entire world, if it meant keeping that open smile on his face.

Their morning had been cautious, far more uncertain around one another than they had been since Cas had come to the bunker, and all those hidden thoughts Dean had of Cas leaving him, or waking to find him gone, or waking, perhaps worse, to find Cas right there in front of him but out of his reach, refused to be silenced, goading him unrelentingly. The thought of never reaching for Cas again had Dean’s heart aching, and his hands twitching to reach out and haul Cas to his feet, drag him into his arms and never let him go again.

“She’s a handful,” the owner corrected, with Dean looking up to see a woman with short brown hair and wearing a huge blue jacket as though she was both wearing someone else’s clothes and also freezing, “and Abbie knows she’s beautiful, which is half the problem."

“Don’t think Cas is complaining,” Dean smiled, reaching out to Abbie and laughing as she shoved her snout into his waiting hand to be stroked, then introduced himself as he stood.

“Jessica."  

“We’re, uh… we’re looking to buy this house,” Dean added, waving to the house with the For Sale sign behind a couple doors down.

“Yes, Gerard mentioned he’d met the new owners,” Jessica smiled in greeting, waving towards her own house, “we’ve been here for about a year and a half now. We love it here."

“Jessica… Nicholson?” Dean asked, splaying his fingers.

“That’s me,” Jessica agreed, “my husband, Adam, he’s an accountant, and our kids, Julia’s fifteen, Scott’s just turned six; you’ll get to meet them all when you move in."

“Looking forward to it,” Dean smiled, his eyes catching on the Witches Knot carved into the trunk of the tree on the sidewalk in front of their house. “Seen a lot of these around the place."

“Yes,” Jessica smiled, looking for herself, “they are everywhere."

“Any idea what they mean?”

“I expect it’s just kids,” Jessica shrugged, not seeming interested in the slightest.

“Yeah, probably."

“So are you viewing today?” Jessica asked, looking over at their would-be house, then back at Cas as he stood again.

“No,” Dean said, hand to the back of his neck, “no, uh… we were just taking a look… walking by—”

“We are very much looking forward to moving in,” Cas added, looking over at the house himself. “We are currently staying at the lodge near the town center in the hope of being able to finalize our paperwork before we must return to our… current home."

“My brother’s girlfriend just got home from the hospital,” Dean found himself saying, “and it’s like… we wanna be here, get this fixed, but wanna get back as well."

“Oh, that must be so difficult,” Jessica said, her expression full of sympathy.

“It’s… yeah, it is."

“Well,” Jessica smiled, “I very much look forward to welcoming you in formally; you should come over for dinner as soon as you’re settled."

“That… actually, that would be great,” Dean smiled, nodding.  

“I’m… sorry to not be able to stay and talk,” Jessica said then, glancing down at her watch, “but I’m meeting a friend in the park with Abbie, so—”

“We’ll be seeing you all the time soon anyway,” Dean lied easily, telling himself he was not really imagining moving in.

Abbie ran between the three of them in continued excitement, leaving them to speak for a couple more minutes about how she hadn’t really grown out of her puppy stage, and then Dean and Cas were walking away hand in hand to the sound of Jessica calling after Abbie to slow down.

“So… she doesn’t know much,” Dean said once they were out of earshot.

“No,” Cas agreed, “it appears not."

“You know what I’m thinking."

“Possibly."

“I’m thinking that… all these well-meaning people, none of it seems too good to be true, but it’s just—”

“Everything feels very _normal_ here, Dean."

“It does,” Dean agreed, “it does. And I’m… I’m not saying I wanna walk away from here and leave them to it, ‘cos if this witch—”

“Gerard,” Cas added immediately, turning to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Gerard,” Dean agreed, “even if he don’t mean any harm, and he’s only doing what—well, I guess all the kinda stuff you’d… I guess you’d want if you had the chance—”

“If it gets out of hand. If he does too _much_ —”

“It’s gonna get messy,” Dean finished for him with a pursed smile.

“So we should… we should talk to him about it."

“We should."

“Do you want to go now?”

Dean pulled his cell from his pocket to check the time and fired off a quick reply to Sam after reading his message saying Eileen was feeling a little better. “I guess now’s as good a time as any."

“Are we… going to talk? About your nightmare, Dean?”

“Nothing to talk about,” Dean denied, pressing a loud kiss to his temple and squeezing his hand.

“But—”

“Nothing to talk about, Cas,” Dean repeated, telling his heart to calm, his mind to stop racing, concentrating on the feel of Cas’ skin against his own palm.

***

 


	15. Chapter 15

“Well hello, again,” Gerard turned from putting a bag in the trash as Cas and Dean came to a stop in front of Pet Haven, giving them a welcoming smile. “Gonna have to start insisting you come here with an actual pet soon."

“Yeah, well, soon as we’re moved in,” Dean agreed with a tight smile of his own, wondering how they were going to broach the subject, with the image of him and Cas in a home together dulled by the intensity of his nightmare doing nothing to help.

“Any news on your house?”

“Not yet,” Dean replied, nodding as Gerard gestured for them to follow him in to the clinic.  

“Well, I hope you hear soon,” Gerard smiled kindly, walking behind his reception counter and sinking to the chair.

“You, uh… you don’t have anyone to help you out here?” Dean asked, eyes darting around the waiting room unsure of where to look.

“Oh, I do,” he replied, “Beth. But she’s out on an extended lunch; her daughter Lauren’s got a fever, so she’s gone home to check up, see how much grandma’s spoiling her. Sent her home with some elderflower tea."

“That the kind of thing a vet keeps laying around?” Dean joked, trying to keep it light. “Prescribes for their patients?”

“This one does,” Gerard shrugged, standing again and walking over to an overhead cabinet to pull it open, “at least, for their owners. I am of the opinion that herbal remedies are just as valuable as the more chemical ones we use in medicine; for both people and animal."

“Peppermint and ginger are also good for fever reduction,” Cas added, causing Dean to turn his head to look at him and feeling his stomach jolting. He wasn't sure why, but since waking from that nightmare, he’d had an unsettled feeling in his gut, and every time he looked at Cas it felt as though he was waiting for a conversation he never wanted to have happen. Then scolded himself for being overdramatic.

“It’s true,” Gerard replied with a pleased smile.

“So,” Dean said, dragging his eyes away from Cas, “we, uh… we were at the community center."

“Oh?”

“For salsa,” Cas added, his face softening into a happy smile of memory that Dean caught himself staring at again, before clearing his throat.

“Oh,” Gerard laughed, sinking back down into his chair, “‘fraid I’ve got two left feet. I hear it’s got a good turnout though."

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “yeah, there were a few of us."

“Including Tim and Sylvia,” Cas said, and Dean looked closer at Gerard waiting for a reaction.

“I hear Sylvia’s pretty good,” Gerard smiled.

“News really does travel fast here, huh?” Dean laughed, leaning against the counter.

“Sure does."

“Even with… what’s his name again. Sebastian?”

“Seb."

“Yeah, him,” Dean nodded, “even him getting apparently _cursed_ made the news."

“Must’ve been a slow news day,” Gerard laughed, though with a bewildered look crossing his face for a second.

“You know,” Dean continued, “what with the church apparently being targeted—”

“Targeted?” Gerard huffed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. With like… Seb says there’s carvings in the trees, gates, whatever, and there’s all those nasturtiums around the churchyard."

“A bunch of flowers never did anyone any harm,” Gerard retorted, his voice a little clipped.

“And then there was David,” Dean added.

“He—”

“And the school with the ant swarms,” Dean said, laughing, “gotta tell you, Gerard; for a place that’s so _small_ , and got so many people looking out for each other, you got some real weird stuff going on. And those Witches Knots everywhere—”

“Hey—”

“Gerard. We know it’s you,” Dean blurted out, deciding there was no other way to get to the subject.

“Know it’s me what?” Gerard asked, shaking his head to show he didn’t understand, but his posture rigid as though not sure if he should run.

“The Witches Knots? The hex bags you’ve been getting Sylvia to deliver? The—”

“Hex bags?” Gerard repeated, wide eyed, looking on the verge of defending himself and only just stopping in time.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “hex bags. You know—Cas; what did Sylvia say was in that last one?”

“Shells, seaweed, and selenite."

“Right,” Dean nodded.

“I don’t know anything about that,” Gerard denied, turning away from them with a small frown and searching through a stack of papers on his desk.

“No?”

“No,” Gerard repeated, “but it doesn’t sound like much of a _hex_ to me."

“Oh no?”

“Bits of shell, scraps of seaweed, and selenite wands? Doesn’t sound all that hex-like to me."  

“We never said what the pieces _looked_ like, Gerard,” Dean pointed out, raising an eyebrow when Gerard lifted his head to look at him.

“Just an assumption."

“And the chamomile, and… dandelion out front?” Dean demanded, pointing towards the door.

Gerard followed the point of his finger, looked over to the clock on the wall, allowed his shoulders to slump, then stood without warning, crossing the waiting room to first close the blinds, then flip the closed sign, and finally bolt the door, leaning back against it.

“I don’t know what it is I’m being accused of here."

“We—”

“And I really don’t know what two people who don’t even _live_ around here are doing, doing the accusing,” Gerard added, viewing them both in turn in suspicion.

“We told you; we’re just trying to get to know our new area,” Dean shrugged.

“And this is how you make yourself at home, huh?” Gerard snorted, rolling his eyes.

“No."

Dean looked at Cas as he turned to face Gerard better, fixing him with a stare that Dean was happy not to be on the receiving end of.

“No?”

“We would one day like to live here. Somewhere like here,” Cas amended, glancing briefly towards the window, “but no. This is not our home. This will not be our home."

“So what are you doing here, stirring up trouble? For fun? Sticking your noses in, when—”

“We were intrigued by the newspaper article suggesting that the local priest was being cursed. That the local school was suffering something similar—”

“It wasn’t similar at _all_ ,” Gerard denied angrily, folding his arms tight across his chest, “and who goes around getting _intrigued_ by stuff like that?”

“Us,” Dean shrugged, “people like us."

“And who are you?”

“Just the kind of people who know the damage _witches_ can do,” Dean snapped back at him.

“So all witches are bad,” Gerard growled tutted, rolling his eyes, “all are devil worshippers or—”

“We said nothing about devil worship,” Cas immediately answered, shaking his head slowly.

“Whatever; you’re shoving everyone in the same—”

“We are not shoving _anything_ ,” Cas insisted.

“But—”

“Look,” Dean sighed, stretching a little as though unconcerned and coming to a stop a little closer to Cas, “I get it. All the things you’re doing around here are supposed to help. Hand out, I don’t know; some kinda justice."

“I didn’t—”

“But where’s it gonna stop, man, huh?” Dean continued. “When’s it gonna go from _helping_ other people to doing something for _you_. Revenge, or something? Like… whatever your deal is with Sebastian—”

“I don’t have a _deal_ with Sebastian,” Gerard denied angrily, scowling hard at him.

“So why’d you—”

“Prove it’s me,” Gerard shrugged, leaning back against the door a little more relaxed.

“Who else would it be?”

“There’s enough people round here,” Gerard shrugged again, “could be anyone—”

“In a community, where everyone knows everyone, everyone looks out for everyone—like you kept telling us when you first spoke to us—”

“We _do_ look out for each other—”

“We never said you didn’t,” Dean replied, holding his hands up, “but c’mon, Gerard; don’t you think everything’s just a little too cookie cutter clean round here? The bad guys get—”

“There’s no real _bad guys_ here,” Gerard denied, indignant.

“No?”

“No."

“Then what about David?”

“David’s an idiot,” Gerard sighed, “he doesn’t count. And anyway; it wasn’t all that bad what was done to him—”

“He had a heart attack,” Dean protested, “that’s pretty bad—”

“That was nothing to do with me,” Gerard bit back, flinching the second the words were out of his mouth, looking to deny it then slumping in defeat.

“So, not you, huh?”

“I performed a spell of _compassion_ for David,” Gerard groaned, covering his face with his hands, muffling his words when he eventually kept talking. “I performed it just before he got on to that platform; maybe he was beyond that kind of healing, maybe he has a weak heart, I don’t know. Point is, it was supposed to _help_."

“Well clearly, it didn’t _help_ ,” Dean pointed out.

“You think he’d already be back working if I hadn’t sent him a _hasten recovery_ spell the second I could?” Gerard protested, eyes wide in defense. Dean glared back at him until his expression softened, morphing into something closer to remorse.

“So. Let’s take a step back here,” Dean sighed, “you’re doing all these spells round here, to _help_ , right?”

Gerard hesitated for a moment before gritting his teeth and nodding.

 

“And you, what… you’re judge, jury, and executioner for who’s good or bad?”

“You make it sound so much worse than it is,” Gerard said, shaking his head in denial.

“The ant swarms?” Dean demanded. “For the principal, and the school bully—”

“If you know what the problem was, then you know why I did it, right?” Gerard reasoned, looking torn between pride and guilt.

“Well yeah. Sure. Not saying I don’t get it. But—”

“Then I think it’s fair to say that they had it coming,” Gerard continued, his chin tilted up in renewed defiance.

“That’s… it’s not the point."

“So how’s it any different you going around accusing people of—”

“We’re not accusing you if you just admitted—”

“Not all witches are bad,” Gerard protested, pushing himself away from the door.

“Yeah?” Dean huffed. “Well, I’m yet to meet one with nothing but good intentions."

“Well now you have,” Gerard shrugged, splaying his hands.

“Gerard—”

“And anyway,” Gerard said, walking back around the counter and slumping down in his seat, glancing at Dean and Cas as they turned round to face him, and groaning, “the _hex_ bag you mentioned? The shells, selenite, and seaweed? It’s for _healing_."

“Healing,” Dean repeated.

“Yeah,” Gerard huffed, “ _healing_. We had a… there was a… Simon and Janet Robinson; they split up a little while ago. Simon was caught having an affair, and they’re… they’re divorcing. He’s moved out, so Janet’s here on her own, with a four-year-old daughter, dealing with everything. Simon’s being good financially, but… Janet was devastated. They were high school sweethearts, and I just wanted… I just wanted her to feel better, is all."   

“So… how ‘bout we start this over, huh?” Dean asked, leaning on the counter.

“Why? Why’d I need to tell you anything?”

“You don’t,” Dean shrugged, “but we’re not leaving ‘till we know you’re not gonna keep this up—”

“Okay firstly,” Gerard replied, spinning on his chair, “who the hell are you to come here telling people how to live their lives?”

“Who are you to decide who needs a little… I don’t know what you think of it as. Discipline. Punishment. Maybe you’re getting revenge—”

“It’s not about revenge,” Gerard replied, raising his voice a little and rolling his eyes again.

“And second?” Dean prompted, leaving Gerard opening his mouth to speak but no words coming out for a few seconds.

“And second,” he then sighed, drumming his fingers on the counter, “I just… I want to help. That’s it. That’s all I want. Seriously; if you’re the kind of people that go around looking for _witches_ , I have to assume you’ve come across nothing but bad ones. In fact, you just said that."

“Only one kinda witch,” Dean shrugged, “one that wants power."

“I don’t want _power_ ,” Gerard laughed, “I don’t—I don’t want, or need power. My life’s small, quiet, _good_ ; I don’t need anything else."

“Then why would you choose to perform witchcraft?” Cas asked, leaning on the counter in mirror to Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “how ‘bout giving us this from the beginning, huh?”

Gerard looked between the two of them again, then sighed, nodding. “I saw a… over in the park behind your new place when you get it—which is obviously a _lie_ ,” Gerard added then, glaring between the two of them in accusation before rolling his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Over in that park, there’s this tree that’s just... beautiful. Beautiful; huge thing stretching up into the sky. I used to play around it when I was a kid—my family home backed on to the other side of the park—and I always felt drawn to it when I was growing up. It was like my safe haven if I’d had a bad day, or just needed some time alone.

“And I guess I must have been about fourteen when I first noticed it; I’d just had a growth spurt over the summer, so that probably helped, but when I went back to the tree after camp, there was this… I noticed the Witches Knot carved in thick to the bark."

“Like… a new carving?” Dean asked.

“No,” Gerard replied, shaking his head, “no; I mean, I’d never noticed it before, so it could have been, but… it wasn’t a fresh carving at all, it was like… deep in the bark, already growing over in places. I just felt I needed to know more about it, so went to the library, went through all the books with symbols in until I could identify it. The Witches Knot."

“And… what did you do?”

“Obviously, I was fascinated,” Gerard smiled, a wistful look taking over his face, “took a ton of books from the library and just devoured them. Learned all about symbols, what they meant, what they could be used for; and eventually, learned everything there was to know about Wicca."

“So… you just… I—”

“I studied it,” Gerard shrugged, “just as hard as I was studying biology, and everything else I needed to be good at so I could get into veterinary college; I’d wanted to be a vet since I found a stray cat in our backyard when I was about six, and we couldn’t do anything to save it when it had an infection in its jaw from an injury probably caused by a fight.

“And I… it was fascinating, you know? And so respectful of nature, and… that tree I was so drawn to became more like a friend, like—like my very own Green Man, I guess."

“So what happened?” Dean prompted when it looked as though Gerard had got lost in his memories and stopped talking altogether.

“What do you mean, what happened?”

“How’d you go from reading up on Wicca to actually trying your hand at spells and stuff?”

Gerard narrowed his eyes at Dean then, clearly hearing the disapproval in his tone, and debating what to do with it. But then he shrugged again, rubbing his hands over his eyes for a moment, then looked back at him.  

“I… the first time I did a spell, it was a spell to make me _focus_ in finals. I was… I was nervous, because if I could get good grades, I’d be on target for getting a scholarship, and I wanted a scholarship to a really, really good program, more than anything in the world back then. And I wasn’t sleeping, I was… studying so hard, and so long, I was word perfect on everything, but I was still terrified I’d fail. So I did a spell on myself, to help me focus."

“Just like that?” Dean huffed. “Just like… you performed magic on yourself, as a kid, without… any prior knowledge—”

“I was studying it pretty intensively, like I said,” Gerard shrugged, smiling, “and it worked so well. I finished before everyone else, had time to go through and find a couple of mistakes I’d made that would’ve cost me a lot, and it was… it just felt like the right thing to do, you know?”

“So you just—”

“I guess I got hungry for it,” Gerard shrugged, smiling to himself, “I… there was this kid in my year. Tim, actually—”

“The brewery guy?”

“Yeah, him,” Gerard smiled, “he’s actually a good friend of mine. And he was… his dad had just died, and his mom was struggling, and it was… I know it was a tough time for them financially. We were only like… fifteen, but I… my parents talked about it, the other kids talked about it, and I just… I remember going home one night and researching a spell for wealth."

“You… you looked up a prosperity spell for your friend?” Dean asked, still unable to keep the doubt from his voice.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Gerard protested, “it was like… I _knew_ I could do it, and I felt responsible, because I could do something, but hadn’t."

“So—”

“So I got all the ingredients for the spell, studied every word meticulously, because it’s a really complex spell, you know? Least, it was for a kid only on their second spell working."  

“And?”

“And,” Gerard shrugged, “a week later, Tim’s mom comes running into the school at lunch, tears streaming down her face. Turns out an insurance policy for his dad that had lapsed, or… I don’t think was filled in right, or something, came through. They—they could keep the house, they were… everything was okay."

“And you think—”

“I mean, I know what you’re thinking,” Gerard smiled, “it’s like… I’m a kid; how could anything I do make any difference, right?”

Dean pursed his lips together but didn’t say anything.

“You sent Tim the oak sapling,” Cas said, nodding in understanding.

“I—I did,” Gerard agreed, “but I just… back then, when we were kids, Tim was happy, his mom was smiling again, so everything was good. And I didn’t really think anything else of it. But then I… there was a… _Sebastian_ was being a bigger dick than he’d ever been. Like… he’d been the school bully since probably before I started high school, and we just… people just learned to avoid him, you know? But when my sister started high school, and she… she came home in tears, with her clothes ripped and scrapes up her arm, I just… I thought the worst."

“What happened?”

“Nothing worse than his usual,” Gerard huffed, scowling, “he’d shoved at her, thrown her at her locker, when she’d tried to run off her sleeve got ripped, he’d grabbed at her again, and when she’d tried to defend herself she’d ended up with those scratches up her arms. And I just… I guess I just flipped."

“So…”

“So,” Gerard sighed, “I did a spell. A couple, actually; first one was on Kat, so she would… so she’d be less noticeable. Like… the spell’s called an invisibility spell, but it wasn’t to make her actually _invisible_ , but so she would be left alone."

“And the second spell?”

“A _freezer_ spell, to stop Sebastian being a bully. To stop him—to change his actions, to just… I don’t know; give us some peace. And then when that didn’t work, I kind of… I debated looking into something darker, but freaked myself out with some of the things I was reading, so I… I just looked up stuff to—to bind a bully."

“And… what happened?”

“You know. The whole _I bind you from doing harm: harm against other people and harm against yourself_ thing,” Gerard sighed, looking at Dean as though he really should know exactly what he was talking about.

“Not something I’ve ever tried myself,” Dean replied, raising an eyebrow.

“I guess not,” Gerard replied, though didn’t look particularly contrite, “and anyway. It worked. It stopped; Sebastian never hurt, or bothered another person in the rest of his time at high school."

“And you’re… you’re still practicing now? All these years later?”

“I am,” Gerard agreed with pride, “I… added a ton more Witches Knots, and other protective symbols around here, especially when I was leaving for college; I wanted everyone to be safe, and protected, and not—not to have to worry about anything, you know? And I just keep practicing alongside this place."  

Dean followed the sweep of his hand around the veterinary clinic and nodded.  

“And that’s… honestly, that’s all I’m doing; protective spells, spells for prosperity, and to… make everything better, where I can."

“So with the politician guy… _David_ —”

“He made me angry,” Gerard blurted out, scowling again, “he just… his attitude… outlook, it’s so… it’s wrong."

“And the… the school bully, headteacher—”

“Also had it coming, like I said,” Gerard huffed, “not like the damage was permanent or anything."

“And… and Sebastian? It was… your deal with him is ‘cos of your sister? In high school?”

“Not just that,” Gerard denied, shaking his head adamantly, “so many other things as well."

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that he’s a bigoted ass,” Gerard replied, “like… his attitude towards—we had a woman live here for like… two months. Visiting her mom with a newborn, and his attitude was just… the whole _unmarried mother_ thing really didn’t sit well with him, so it was… he made her life hell."

“Seriously?” Dean asked, shaking his head in disbelief at both Gerard’s justification and Sebastian’s less-than-Christian views.

“Seriously,” Gerard nodded, “once a bully always a bully, right? And there’s… Julia Nicholson, the girl who complained to her mom about Todd—that school bully—harassing all the girls in class and the headteacher not doing anything; she did that right here, when they were bringing in their German shepherd Abbie."

“Okay—”

“Well, her best friend, Jason—honestly, the two of them live in each other’s pockets; it’s like Julia’s lived here her whole life instead of a little over a year and a half. Well, Jason, he was in here with Julia and her Mom when they brought Abbie, ‘cos he’s always over at their house for dinner. And he’s… well, he has a boyfriend. Jefferson. The two of them are good kids, you know? Always helping people with… I don’t know, with their groceries, walking dogs, anything. They’re good kids, you know? But Sebastian just… Sebastian’s nothing but a… he just—”

“What?”

“He cornered them outside the church, complaining about them doing things—like… probably just making out, or something, in the churchyard. Read them the riot act, really upset them both."

“You saw?”

“I saw,” Gerard confirmed, “I mean, I didn’t hear everything word for word, but he… he’s a dick."

“So you… what’d you do?”   

“Ah, just, you know. Some… hex bags at his place for bad luck. A spell so he’d lose his voice—”

“In the middle of his sermon,” Dean finished for him.

“In the middle of his sermon,” Gerard agreed with another proud smile on his face.

“And…”

“And I might’ve… I might’ve modified a sleeping spell so he couldn’t get through all his _preaching_ of unpleasantness."

“Anything else? Aside from the carvings, the _flowers_ , the grave dirt—”  

“That was for spells,” Gerard protested.

“That was stealing,” Dean pointed out, glaring back at him until Gerard ducked his head. “Anything else?”

“And maybe a… maybe a spell for weight loss so he… so he ended up going for a bunch of tests, freaked him out a little. I admit,” Gerard added, holding his hands up and looking guilty for the first time since the beginning of their conversation, “I maybe went a little too far with that one. But he deserves it, he deserves… all of it."

“And so… this place,” Dean said, gesturing around them and raising an eyebrow, already certain of Gerard’s response. “This place you… you hexed the old vet so you got yourself a good gig."

“Hey, no,” he denied, shaking his head. “All I did was a spell for positivity, to give myself some good luck when, at the time, it felt like everything was collapsing around me. Jean’s a great guy; just happened to be retiring when I got home is all. Him and his wife send me a postcard every now and then from whatever exotic location they’re spending their retirement in; Florida Keys, currently,” he added, leaning behind the counter to pluck a postcard from a noticeboard with a picture of a beautiful beach on the front.

Dean could tell from the look on his face he was telling the truth, or at least believed he was telling the truth, and didn’t know what to make of it.

“I was gonna to a _cockles of the heart spell_ for Tim,” Gerard added then, smiling to himself, shaking his head.

“The what now?”

“The cockles of the heart,” Gerard repeated, earnestly looking between the two of them, “not one that you two seem like you need."

“What is the… _cockles of the heart_ spell?” Cas asked dubiously, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“It’s a love spell,” Gerard smiled, “you need a pink candle, some rose quartz, rose oil. A charged heart pendant—”

“And what’s all this stuff supposed to do?” Dean interrupted, waving his hand to hurry him up.

“It’s a _love_ spell,” Gerard laughed, “turns out Tim was doing fine all on his own. Didn’t even need my help."

“Sylvia,” Dean said after a moment, with Gerard’s smile growing wider.

“Yeah, Sylvia,” Gerard agreed, “moved in to the store next door to Tim; Tim’s had an almost permanent smile on his face ever since."

“Right,” Dean said, not knowing what else to say.

“We cannot allow you to continue,” Cas said then, force to his voice Dean hadn’t heard since Cas had come back to him. He half-expected to find the air crackling around Cas when he turned to look at him, as it had often felt like it was doing when Cas had been incensed in the past, but there was nothing but an assuredness about his posture, a certainty that he was saying the right thing.

“And what are you gonna do?” Gerard said with derision, eyes flickering over Cas as though he couldn’t believe his audacity.

“Plead with your common sense not to let this get out of hand."

“And how are you gonna to that?”

With an audible sigh, Cas straightened himself up a little taller, squared his shoulders, and stared harder still at Gerard. Dean looked between the two of them feeling he was about to referee a staring competition, then found himself calling out in surprise when Cas lunged across the counter.

“Ow."

Dean turned to watch Gerard scowling, rubbing hard at the side of his head where Cas had yanked out a handful of hair, then back to Cas, casually taking a flyer from the counter and making it into a makeshift envelope before securing the hair inside.

“This hair will be used to make a counterspell,” Cas said calmly, still staring at him without breaking eye contact, “you are, I assume, familiar with witch bottles."

“You’re… you’re telling me you’re gonna… make a counter spell and bury it in bottles around the… what; churchyard? Town? What?”

“To begin with,” Cas replied calmly, sliding the flyer-envelope into an inside jacket pocket.

“And then what?”

Dean kept quiet, discreetly sneaking glances at Cas and swearing if he didn’t know better, Cas would be about to smite the life out of Gerard. But then all he did was clear his throat, and sigh.

“Well? You—”

Gerard was cut off by Cas beginning to speak, in a commanding tone, in Enochian. And though Dean only understood a few snatches of words, all the colour drained from Gerard’s face, sinking him further back into his chair, with his mouth falling open in horror. Cas continued to speak for several minutes, the tone of his voice never faltering, but the volume of it getting louder. Dean looked on in silence, having no idea what was being said, or how he was supposed to respond. And then Cas finished as abruptly as he’d started, still staring back at Gerard the picture of calm.

“Do you understand me?” Cas demanded then, quiet fury taking over his voice.

“Y-yes."

“Then you will understand that if you do not do my bidding, then I will return."

“Of course,” Gerard blurted out, swallowing hard and his eyes wide as saucers, cautiously standing up and backing a little further away from Cas.

“You will speak to Sebastian,” Cas continued.

“I… I will?”

“You will,” Cas confirmed, “and you will speak to him as an equal, to know the truth of his words. You will apologize, or find a way to rectify your mistakes."

“I will,” Gerard nodded rapidly, eyes darting only for a second towards Dean, then back to fixing on Cas in true fear.

“I will return in the morning,” Cas warned him then, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll… I’ll talk to him. I will. Today,” Gerard stuttered out, “but honestly; I didn’t mean any harm. I was trying to help."

“That is why I will forgive you, if you rectify this situation with Sebastian."

“I will,” Gerard nodded again, swallowing hard, “I will."

“We will leave now,” Cas declared then, spinning on his heel without another word, leaving Dean to follow and glance just once over his shoulder at Gerard, then close the door behind him.

“What… what was that?” Dean asked a few paces away, wanting to bring Cas to a stop to face him, but not quite daring to.

Cas turned to smile at him, reaching out to slot his fingers through Dean’s. “Gerard has apparently read the _works_ of John Dee."

“John Dee?” Dean repeated. “The… the angel guy?”

“Yes."

“The… guy who said the angels taught him Enochian?”

“Yes,” Cas smiled, nudging into his side.

“But—”

“Which means,” Cas continued, rolling his eyes, “he also believes in the Enochian _magic_ of John Dee."  

“Uh…”

“And while John Dee did in fact commune with angels, and learn Enochian from them, do you really believe the angels would have entrusted a human with angelic magic?” Cas asked, smiling harder.

“I… no?”

“John Dee _invented_ so-called Enochian Magick,” Cas sighed, shaking his head, “it appears Gerard believes in such things, yet knows very little about it. Or Enochian itself."

“He… he looked kinda terrified, Cas."

“Dean. I recited an approximate translation of the fire hazard card displayed in the lodge reception,” Cas smiled, seeming both amused and pleased with himself.

“And he…”

“Either he is a very cautious man who is afraid of open flames, fire exits, and sprinkler systems, or he does not understand a word of Enochian."

“Did you just… you bluffed the guy?” Dean asked, incredulous, peering back over his shoulder for another second before Cas squeezed his hand again.

“Yes."

“I…”

“I believe it will be effective,” Cas replied looking even more pleased with himself, a slight spring in his step as they crossed the street.

“That was… and the hair?” Dean asked, beginning to feel laughter bubbling in his gut.

“Witches bottles can be effective counter spells,” Cas smiled, though took the folded over flyer from his pocket and dropped it into a trash can as they passed, “even simply the idea of them."

“I… that was badass, Cas,” Dean stuttered, catching Cas’ smile of triumph and dropping his hand, instinctively wrapping his arm around him instead to draw Cas in for a kiss.

***

“I would like to talk about your nightmare, Dean."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut at Cas’ first words spoken the moment they closed their room door behind them, sinking down on to the edge of the bed after throwing his jacket on to a chair.

“Cas—”

“I would prefer we did not have things between us that we avoid talking about,” Cas added, sinking down beside him, and after visibly hesitating reached out to take his hand. Dean leaned against his shoulder and sighed hard, turning quickly to surprise him with a kiss, and after allowing himself a second of leaning their foreheads together sat back a little, withdrawing his hand.

“It’s just… when you were _gone_ , Cas, I had… I had the same nightmare."

“Can you tell me what it was about?”

“It was… it was _you_ , Cas. Laid out there. Dead. Turning to dust, right before my very eyes,” Dean said, squeezing his eyes shut tight then opening them again for the image there he really should have been expecting.

“I am sorry—”

“You don’t gotta be _sorry_ , Cas,” Dean protested, “not your fault."

“I suppose it is… normal, to dream of such a thing. If it is something you… fear,” Cas said, though his words were cautious enough for Dean’s heart to give a hard thud.

“Cas,” he said, shifting them so they were facing better, “I can’t… I don’t think I’m gonna get over the fear of losing you for… maybe ever."

“But I am here, Dean,” Cas smiled, reaching out to cup his face, “I am here. And I intend to be—”

“That’s exactly what you keep telling me in this dream, Cas,” Dean said, cutting him off and feeling an icy chill up the length of his spine, wanting to cover his ears with his hands.

“Well, unless you believe your dreams to be prophetic, then—”

“It’s not that, Cas,” Dean said, cutting him off again, and having to lean in to kiss him. In fact, having to lose himself in kissing Cas until his heart rate evened out. “Can we, uh… can we... c’mere,” Dean said then, gesturing at the bed as he stood to kick off his boots, then sprawled out awkwardly, patting the bed by his side.

Cas stood himself, kicked off his own boots with more grace, then crawled on to the bed beside him, hand straight up under Dean’s shirt as he tucked in close.

“So. Back when… remember I told you about Sonny’s?”

“The boy’s home you spent two months in when you were caught stealing food for Sam? Where your father abandoned you to teach you a lesson?” Cas replied, disapproval tainting his voice and reminding Dean of so many conversations where Cas had voiced his disapproval of Dean’s upbringing.  

“Yeah, there."

“You were… happy there,” Cas added, holding still as though not sure how his words would be received.

“I mean, I don’t know about _happy_ —”

“Dean—”

“Maybe it was as close to happy as I was gonna get,” Dean amended, relenting.

“Okay."

“And I told you about… about Sonny, and Robin, and school—”

“You were happy,” Cas repeated, leaning to kiss him on the forehead, leaving Dean smiling to himself for a moment before shaking his head.

“I… I guess I was, Cas,” Dean agreed after a pause, allowing the memories to fill his mind for a few seconds before attempting to shake them away as well.

“Aside from staying with Bobby, I am sure Sonny’s provided you with more… stability, than you had experienced in your young life."

“It did. It was… I guess it was my one shot at normal for a while. I mean,” and Dean cleared his throat, shooting a quick glance at Cas before darting away again, “I… I was doing okay in classes. Hell, I was _caring_ that I was doing okay in classes. Did homework, after school clubs, the whole nine."

“It sounds… idyllic, in comparison to everything else you must have experienced,” Cas said softly, and Dean had to close his eyes to the tenderness there, not trusting himself not to show the emotion talking about those memories stirred up if he didn’t.

“It… yeah, I guess it kind of was, Cas,” and Dean had to pause for a moment, navigating his way through what he wanted to say. “I remember, clear as anything, the day before my dad showed up. We had… we’d got up early, done some stuff on the farm, had a real good breakfast to make up for it, went off to school. I’d aced a homework assignment, and I knew I had, and it was… I don’t know, Cas, I was excited about handing it in, you know?”

“You were proud of yourself,” Cas smiled.

“I mean I… I guess right then? Yeah. Yeah, I was."

“And the rest of the day?” Cas prompted, gently letting Dean know he’d not picked up his story.

“I had good classes,” Dean shrugged, smiling to himself, “sat with a group of friends at lunch. Had _friends_. Had _lunch_ ; I can’t tell you how many lunches I missed ‘cos we didn’t have enough for both me and Sam to eat."

“You have always put Sam first,” Cas sighed, leaning in to kiss him again.

“Had to."

“You are his brother, Dean. Not his parent,” Cas corrected gently, though Dean felt the softness behind his words instead of feeling scolded, and tried to ignore the tears pricking in his eyes.

“In the past now, Cas,” Dean told him, not wanting to churn up a discussion they’d had more than once. “Anyway. It was just a good day, you know? Simple. Afternoon was a breeze. Met up with Robin in the diner after class; maybe we practiced a couple of steps for the dance the next night when she was on her break. Went back to Sonny’s. Helped with some chores. I actually helped with dinner."

“You enjoy cooking,” Cas smiled.

“I did. I do."

Cas leaned in to kiss him again then, his palm warm and reassuring at the back of Dean’s neck, his breath calm and steady as their lips brushed together, pulling back only to smile once again.

“Anyway,” Dean said, smiling hard, then huffing to himself, “I… I don’t know, Cas. It was like; I remember thinking, just as I was going up to bed, that it was like a perfect… I don’t know. Moment, or something. One normal, dull day, where I was just like everybody else in the world. Worst I had to think about, was how much extra effort I was gonna put in for a project I was working on in English class. I was… I was just a kid, you know?”

“Yes, Dean."

“And it… Sam can’t know, of course, but when… when Dad picked me up, I kinda… I didn’t sleep for weeks after, ‘cos every time I closed my eyes, I was back at Sonny’s. Living this real simple life, where the only thing expected o’ me, was that I’d try my best, you know? Like, any choices I had to make were all on me, and _for_ me. I didn’t… took me months; maybe even a whole year, to put that idea outta my head. That I could do _normal_."

“It was what you wanted."

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean nodded, “at sixteen, it’s all I wanted. But life’s not like that for me, you know? Not been like that for me. And I’m… I’m okay with it. It’s… it’s what it is. No amount o’ dreaming up all this stuff is ever gonna change any o’ that."

“I am sorry, Dean."

“What’re you sorry for, Cas?” Dean laughed, leaning in to kiss him again. “Weren’t you. Weren’t your choices."

“No, but—”

“Point is,” Dean said, squeezing him again, “I always thought after that, that my time at Sonny’s was gonna be the only shot I ever got at normal. That I… I could never get myself close to anyone, in any way, ever again. ‘Cos it hurt too much to have to give it up."

“Dean—”

“I wanted to try _normal_ with Cassie, and that didn’t work out, ‘cos she… she didn’t want that,” Dean added quickly. Cas knew everything there was to know about him, everyone of importance in his life he had shared with Cas in all of their many conversations over the years, so there was no sense of feeling he couldn’t speak freely. And the look on Cas’ face was nothing but encouraging.

“And Lisa,” Cas prompted, that tiny flare of jealousy Dean had convinced himself both in and out of in the past that Cas had felt for her bared to him freely in that moment, encouraging Dean to kiss him once again.

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t the same,” Dean sighed, “I mean, Lisa was real important to me, and Ben, you know they were."

“They became your family."

“Yeah, Cas. They did. They became my _normal_ , for… however long it was,” Dean sighed, having long forgotten the exact number of days and months he’d once held on to as a kind of anchor, a reminder that he was more than just alive to hunt.

“That is understandable."

“I just can’t… I couldn’t—I couldn’t face the idea of losing anything anymore after that, you know? Like… I lost my chance at _normal_ , it feels like so many times over."

Cas nodded, not adding anything as Dean again tried to find his words.  

“And every time I feel myself slipping— _thinking_ how much I want just _normal_ , I… I know I’m gonna lose it. I know I’m not gonna get to have it."

“That is… not always the case,” Cas told him, to which Dean could only shake his head.  

“It’s why I… the whole thing with me not telling you ‘bout… not telling you how much I… you know I love you, Cas,” Dean blurted out in a hurry, holding on to Cas tight.

“I do,” Cas smiled, tilting his chin to be kissed again, and Dean lost himself in it, so much easier than having to keep talking. But then the words felt like they were hammering at his throat in demand, and he had to let them out.

“But I… Cas; I’m… after everything? After everything we’ve been through to get here, and just… generally, with everything. I can’t… I can’t deal with the idea of losing _you_ , Cas. I _can’t_."

“I am not—”

“Just… hear me out, okay?” Dean pleaded, ducking to kiss him and holding his gaze until Cas nodded. “The thing is… I know… I know you and me, we got… we got all kindsa lucky with this second chance. And I don’t think there’s gonna be a day when I’m not reminding myself of all that luck."

“As will I,” Cas assured him with a soft smile.

“But the thing is,” Dean continued, swallowing back the lump in his throat and trying to force his eyes to stay on Cas’, “the thing is… what happens if… what happens if you get bored?”

“Bored?”

“Yeah, Cas. Bored. Bored o’ hunting, this life we got, _me_ —”

“I will never be bored of _you_ , Dean."

“But what if you are, Cas? What if you do?” Dean asked. “Because like you said; this is your life to live now. There’s so much out there you’d get to experience if you weren’t with… well, if you weren’t with _me_."

“Have you not considered—have I not been clear enough—that the thing I am most concerned with experiencing, is a life _with_ you? Whatever that life will be?” Cas retorted, raising an eyebrow, and smiling.

Dean’s words fell over themselves on hearing Cas’, and it took a couple of seconds of accepting Cas’ words at face value before his common sense—or his voice of reason, whichever it was, reminded him that no one ever stuck around for him—and that he never got to stick around for anyone. Not that he thought he’d wanted to stay with anyone like he did with Cas, he amended to himself, thinking first of Lisa, then of Cassie, and knowing that as much as he’d cared about them both, how he’d never regret a moment of the time he’d spent with either of them, it wasn’t the same as the way he felt about Cas.    

“Cas,” Dean whispered, because his voice was breaking, and there was no other way to get the words out, “I’m… I’ve not got a lot to offer you, Cas."

“But—”

“Please,” Dean said, leaning in for another kiss as he squeezed his eyes shut, “please, Cas."

Cas sighed hard against him but nodded, sneaking his fingers further beneath Dean’s shirt to hold on tight to him, and waiting for him to talk.

“The thing is,” Dean said with another difficult swallow, “I… I love you. And I… letting myself love you, it’s kind of… my whole life, I’ve had to shut that side of myself out, you know? Like… I tried to, anyway. Tried not to feel a damn thing for anyone. And then you walked in, and it… I’m not gonna pretend it was love at first sight, or anything like that, but I felt something. Probably lust,” he added with a self-deprecating snort that Cas smiled at, and kissed away.

“I don’t believe I knew I was feeling _that_ for you for some time,” Cas told him, splaying his fingers wider, “I knew I was drawn to you, I needed to see you, but I attributed that to my need to protect you. Watch over you."

“Yeah, well, you and me’ve always been a couple a dumbasses about stuff like this,” Dean agreed, holding himself back for a second but then rolling Cas until was pinned beneath him, tucking himself in at every point possible.

“Please continue,” Cas asked, smoothing both his hands beneath Dean’s shirt, looking more patient than Dean was feeling with himself, and in doing so helping him find his way.

“The thing is, I’ve got this… I don’t know; idea in my head, or something, that maybe I… maybe I’m just not cut out for the whole apple pie life thing, however much I might want it. However much it’s the thing that I find myself daydreaming about when I need to get out of my own head."

“Would you say that Sam is also not _cut out for_ an… _apple pie_ life?”

“Sam’s different,” Dean said immediately, shaking his head, “he’s—”

“A hunter, like you. A caring, compassionate man, like you. A _soldier_ , like you, who has been through equal difficulty. Equal trauma. Only with the shelter of an older brother who essentially _raised_ him, when his parents could not,” Cas added, nuzzling against his cheek.

“Cas—”

“You are both entitled to happiness, Dean. You are both deserving of a life that is away from hunting, and constant struggle. Nobody is put on this earth solely to serve."

“You sure about that, Cas?”

“Yes,” Cas told him, and the look he gave him was even more adamant than the tone of his voice.

“But what if I… what if I can’t let go of all that?”

“Dean?”

Dean couldn’t look, wasn’t even sure exactly what it was he was trying to tell him, and once again closed his eyes.

“ _Dean—_ ”

“What if I can’t let go o’ this life, Cas?” Dean asked, squeezing him tight, “what if I… I don’t know; when we’re ready an’ all, to give this up— hunting, and everything, which believe me, some days it’s all I think about; ‘specially if it’s to have some kinda _normal_ with you. But what if I can’t? What if I mess up, and I… I’m not good at just _not_ being involved with all ‘o this?”

“We know we cannot just quit tomorrow, Dean,” Cas pointed out, and Dean found himself squeezing tighter.

“But why can’t we, Cas?” he whispered. “Why, huh? I mean, other hunters do it. _Have_ done it. What if the reason me an’ Sam just keeping going like we do, is ‘cos we’re not meant to just… ‘cos all we’re good for, is—”

“Dean,” Cas said, more insistently than ever, sweeping his hands up Dean’s back and pulling him close, ducking until Dean would look him in the eye. “You’ve both given so much. At times you've given _everything_ —”

“But what if I can’t give _you_ everything, Cas?”

Dean groaned to himself the second his words blurted out, closing his eyes and ducking to hide his face in Cas’ neck. Cas, to his credit, knew Dean didn’t have any strength to get any further explanation out, and just continued to stroke his hands over Dean’s back, kissing the side of his head and breathing evenly beneath him, until Dean could raise his head again to look.

“Dean,” Cas said, smiling once he looked at him, “you have, over the years, given me so much. So much more than I would ever have experienced had I not met you—”

“Yeah,” Dean huffed, “you lost your wings ‘cos of me—”

“I did not lose them because of you."

“But you said they never recovered, after… after _hell_."

“It was my choice to be the one to raise you, Dean; it is not a decision that I regret."

“But—”

“Dean,” Cas smiled, leaning up to kiss him, “I already know all of your arguments. About all the things I have _lost_ because of knowing you; because of my association with you."

“Because it’s true,” Dean sighed, darting his eyes away again.

“Yet I have gained so much _more_ , Dean,” Cas smiled, “all the things that I have experienced, I would not have, without—”

“You coulda had a much more peaceful life if it weren’t for me."

“If I had wanted a _peaceful life_ , I would not have chosen the mission to rescue you." Cas pointed out, ducking again so Dean had to make eye contact. “Dean, I am thankful for the life I have now."

“But—”

“You, along with Jack, have given me yet _another_ chance at life; one I most definitely would never have got to experience, had I—”

“Don’t matter how you say it, Cas,” Dean protested, “I feel like I… like I stole so much from you."

“I could argue that the choices of your parents, your father in particular, stole even more from _you_ ,” Cas said, kissing him again.

“Even with the whole angel thing? Like, maybe they didn’t get a choice. With me, Michael. Sam, Lucifer; the whole vessel—”

“Even with that,” Cas agreed, “your father chose to not even allow you a childhood, Dean. In his quest, in his grief, he… he denied you the opportunity to have your own life. That is a separate issue from however perfect a vessel either you or Sam would have made. Whether your path would have ended up in hunting is irrelevant; the point is, you have only ever truly known a hunting life, because that is all he taught you. This is why it is so hard for you to imagine a life outside of it."

“That’s not true,” Dean denied, “not true at all; ‘cos I think about it plenty."

“You think that you will not be _good_ at it,” Cas amended for him.

“I think I might not be good enough for _you_ ,” Dean retorted, quiet though loud enough to not be able to deny his words.

“Dean,” Cas said, smiling harder, “I want _you_. So I will be the judge of whether or not you are good enough for me. You were the first thing in this world I ever truly wanted—”

“See, that’s not much to want,” Dean argued, “and it sure as hell isn’t enough. I—”

“You are the first person that taught me what it was to want. To think for myself. To _feel_. _I_ believe you are good enough for me, and since it is me who is wanting to spend _my_ life with you, I think I am the one who gets to decide that."

“Cas,” Dean whispered, leaning down to kiss his cheek, and snuggling even closer, “don’t get me wrong, here. I wanna—it’s not like I don’t wanna spend my life with you either. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“What if I let you down?”

“What if I let _you_ down?” Cas retorted, smiling harder.

“I don’t think you ever could,” Dean said, shaking his head.

“I feel the same about you,” Cas replied, leaning up for a kiss.

“But—”

“Dean,” Cas insisted, “we can only _live_. We can only _try_. There are no guarantees in anything; you have taught me that. But right now, all I can feel—all I can _believe_ , is that… this is our second chance—perhaps our final chance—to not only do good in this world, but to experience… all there is to experience in this life. I think, after everything; even if it is simply serving as a reminder of _why_ we are currently hunting, that we are entitled to live. To _love_ , Dean; I think we are entitled to that."

“I can’t get over the idea that you’re gonna leave me, Cas,” Dean blurted out, a sob ripping up from his throat.

“Dean—”

“I can’t get over the idea that I’m not gonna be enough for you."

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice soft instead of the frustration Dean might expect it to have for him repeating himself, “you _are_ enough for me. You are; but we… after everything we have experienced, everything we have denied ourselves, to get here. I think we… I fear losing you also, Dean. Just as much."

“You do?” Dean asked, pulling back in surprise.

“Of course,” Cas told him, “I still find myself wondering when you are going to pull back from me, tell me that you have changed your mind, or that we cannot have this."

“That’s gonna be never,” Dean denied, closing his eyes at the soft sweep of Cas’ hands down his back tucking into his back jean pockets, and dropped his head to pepper fresh kisses into Cas' neck. “I want this, Cas."

“As do I. I think it is… natural, that we both fear that we cannot have this. But that doesn’t mean that we _cannot_ have this."

“So we’re gonna… how’re we gonna _have_ this, Cas?” Dean asked, nuzzling against his cheek.

“I think we… agree to talk. Agree to… be honest when there is something that concerns us. That we… we do all we can not to shut each other out; there are too many times in our history we have done that, when we have attempted to protect one another or conceal a difficulty from one another, and it has ended badly."

“Understatement,” Dean huffed, nuzzling against his cheek again.

“We should agree to talk,” Cas repeated, hugging Dean to him, “that is all I would ask you to give me that you are not already giving me. That you are… holding back from me what you are fearing, Dean; that is the most… unsettling feeling."

“I didn’t wanna scare you off. Or be right,” Dean sighed, smiling when Cas wriggled in protest beneath him.

“You are not right,” Cas told him firmly, fingers gently gripping around the back of Dean’s neck to keep him in place, “you are right about many things, Dean. But not about this. I am not going anywhere. I am not giving up the opportunity to _live_ with you, no matter how difficult things might get."

“Cas,” Dean whispered, his voice trembling and his eyes stinging, “maybe you could just… I don’t know. Kiss me quiet, or something."

“Dean,” Cas smiled, arching beneath him and splaying his fingers once more against his back, doing exactly as asked. Gentle kisses to the corners of his lips before claiming his mouth, a hum of contentment as he arched beneath Dean looping his arms high over his shoulders.

The fluttering of his heart lessened, his eyes closing at the feel of Cas’ fingers slipping further beneath his shirt and pushing upwards, a slight nudge of Cas’ chest against his own sitting Dean up to first remove his own shirt, then help Cas with his. And that fluttering changed altogether to anticipation, accompanied with trembling fingers, as the need to _be_ with Cas clouded every other thought.  

With Cas’ whispered encouragement they undressed, and every brush of Dean’s lips or hands over his skin was met with continual praise. Cas’ urgent reaching for him to settle between his splayed legs had Dean’s stomach rippling, and then Cas claiming his mouth, and curling his fingers in gentle claim around his hips to encourage him to roll them.

“Can I, Cas?” he asked, fingers already slipping down between them to grip around Cas’ length, stuttering at Cas’ arching up into his hand. Cas growled out a _yes_ and splayed his legs a little wider, wrapping his fingers around Dean’s wrist to drag it down, pressing his fingertips against his own hole.  

With a quick scramble across the bed for the lube they’d left on the table to the side of it Dean sat back on his heels and slicked up his hand. Then he was laying down beside Cas, moaning softly at the way he splayed his legs even wider, and without taking his eyes from Cas’, began to work his fingers into him.

Cas’ encouragement became a little louder, his words and the sounds he was making leaving Dean straining hard against Cas’ thigh and having to rut against it to provide some friction. But then Cas was grabbing out for him, urging him between his legs, and Dean’s need saw him sinking into Cas without hesitation, promising himself he’d take longer to savour the feel of it next time.

“You okay, Cas?” he whispered, though it came out gruff, that tight heat drawing him in and stealing all his focus. He barely made out Cas’ answer before he was kissing him hard, adjusting on his knees, and driving into him to chase that feeling.  

Dean slotted his hands beneath their pillows for balance, rolling his hips back as slow as he could for a couple of thrusts, but instinct forcing him to move faster, and Cas’ groans beneath him only called for more. Cas’ hands gripping lightly around his waist served to anchor Dean for a few minutes before Cas was pushing on his sides, urging a gap between them so he could wrap a hand around himself. And the sight of Cas stripping his own cock and flinging his hips down to spear himself on Dean is what tipped him over the edge, grinding hard into Cas as he came, and groaning as Cas spilled himself.

Dean let himself fall heavy on Cas’ chest, eyes closing as he tucked into his neck. Cas’ hands swept warm and comforting over his back, and Dean allowed himself to relish in it, allowing Cas to cradle him closer, and shutting out all negative thoughts; even just for a little while.

***

 


	16. Chapter 16

“No, Cas, wait!”

Dean dived into the bathroom just in time, hearing Cas’ low rumble of laughter, and a confused burst of laughter from Eileen.

“How are you feeling, Eileen?” Cas asked, and Dean peered around the bathroom door to watch him adjusting the laptop screen, waving at Eileen through Skype.

“Apparently not as good as you,” Eileen teased, and though he was too far away from her to see, Dean was sure her gaze lingered firstly down over Cas’ bare chest, and secondly over what was showing of his own. He dove back into the bathroom, glad he’d at least managed to snatch up his jeans—kicked to the floor beside the bed—before the call had connected.  

“I am feeling particularly well,” Cas admitted, leaving Dean grinning to himself at the smugness in his voice, and asking his cheeks not to be as red as they felt. He looked around the bathroom pointlessly for a shirt then held his breath, and walked back out.

“Hey, Eileen,” Dean waved, very sure there was a smirk on her face even before he shrugged on the shirt he’d snatched up from the floor in passing.

“Dean."

“So,” Cas said, turning to smile at him before turning back to Eileen, “I will ask again. How are you feeling?” And Dean saw Cas shift in his chair at the small table in their room, totally unconcerned about his own nakedness, tried to follow the movement of his hands, and sank down on the corner of the bed to watch.

“Like I’m suffering from a month-long hangover?” Eileen laughed, with Dean catching the flourish of her fingers, and determined that he’d be studying ASL so he could speak with Eileen better himself.

“I’m sorry to hear that."

“Sam’s taking good care of me,” Eileen smiled, the warmth in her expression and the murmur in the background telling Dean Sam was still nearby.

“I am sure he is."

“So, how are you doing?” Eileen asked, shifting a little and yawning, waving an apology at Cas for it, “how is the case?”

“Good,” Cas replied, “we are almost finished here. I am sure we will be leaving here tomorrow,” and proceeded to fill her in on all the details they now knew about Gerard and what had been happening.

“It will be great to see in you in person,” Eileen said once he had finished.

“Yes, it will,” Cas agreed, with Dean catching the softness in his voice even if Eileen couldn’t.

“Is Dean still there with you?” Eileen asked then since he was out of her view as he ducked to pull on his socks and boots, with Cas nodding and gesturing over his shoulder. Dean sat up just in time to see Eileen nod sharply, and stop talking altogether, her hands flourishing too fast for Dean to catch anything at all, with Cas doing the same just as fast.

Dean watched them back and forth, from the angle he was at unable to see Cas’ expression, convinced one moment there was tension across his shoulders, and that he was relaxed the next. He wanted to ask, yet also didn’t want to interrupt, interpreted Cas’ huff as directed at him, then also his laughter. And not knowing where to look rose to his feet, squeezing Cas’ shoulder to get his attention.

“I’m gonna head out. Get us something to eat,” he said, waving at Eileen, but before he could slide his hand away Cas was squeezing his fingers in affection, tilting his head back to look up at him with an easy smile that settled Dean’s overthinking a little.  

***

“So? How’d it go?”

Dean waited for Cas to get comfortable once he’d slid into his seat before turning the Impala out into the road, glancing in his direction waiting for him to speak.

“He did as asked,” Cas replied, turning to smile at him, and lacing their fingers together against Dean’s thigh, with Dean glancing back in the rearview for one final look at Pet Haven, then concentrating on the road ahead.

“He did?”

“Yes."

“Gerard apologized to Sebastian?”

“Yes,” Cas smiled, “Gerard insisted on taking him for dinner last night and apologised for _pranking_ him. Blamed the loss of voice on the tea he’d given him before the sermon, promised to repaint the gates at the church and have the carvings he’s made around the churchyard removed."

“So he’s… not outed himself as a _witch_ ,” Dean checked, raising Cas’ hand to kiss the back of it.

“No,” Cas smiled, “though he will think harder the next time he considers _helping_. And will try harder to be more considerate of Sebastian."

“So the whole… the thing with the single mother—”

“Sebastian was concerned that the mother was refusing to vaccinate her child,” Cas side, turning to look out his window before turning back. “Apparently Sebastian feels quite passionately about vaccination, and this is the _disagreement_ that Gerard knew about; it was nothing to do with her marital status."

“That Gerard knew about and twisted,” Dean scorned, shaking his head.

“Yes,” Cas agreed with a hint of distaste in his voice.

“Or the whole telephone game,” Dean amended, explaining the game when Cas eyed him curiously.

“Yes, I suppose that could also be accurate."

“And the kids?” Dean asked, squeezing Cas’ hand as he withdrew it to steer them around a difficult corner. “The… two boys. The—”

“Teenage couple?” Cas finished for him with a small smile.

“Yeah, them."

“Sebastian was angry with them, because they had been helping him out in that soup kitchen for the homeless people in the area, and had left without telling him. He had been worrying about them and had no time to contact them, so when they arrived at the church to deliver some bags of clothes they had collected at school the following day—”

“He read them the riot act,” Dean finished for him with a groan, thinking everyone in the town were far too good to be true, and that he and Cas wouldn’t fit in at all. Then decided that they just might one day, and squeezed Cas’ hand a little tighter.

“Yes,” Cas smiled, settling back more comfortably in his seat with a smug smile on his face. Dean snuck a couple more looks at him then squeezed his hand again, carefully scanning the road in front of them as they passed a sign for construction.

“So, Cas,” Dean said, clearing his throat, “we cleared out the lodge. Got our bags, got no reason to be here anymore. You good with heading home?”

Cas circled his thumb over the back of Dean’s hand, turned to press a kiss to his shoulder, then turned back to gazing out the windshield with a contented sigh. “Yes."

“Can’t wait to see Sam and Eileen,” Dean added, though it wasn’t entirely true. As much as he wanted to see them both, what he couldn’t shake from his thoughts was yet more alone time with Cas. Promised himself they would have that soon; once things with Eileen had settled, once Cas had been back a little longer, once Dean had a little more faith that this was their life now.

“Me, too."

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, glancing over briefly, “think you can teach me some ASL when we get back?”

“Of course,” Cas nodded with a pleased smile.

“I tried following yesterday, but—”

“Eileen was checking that we were… happy, that she would be staying with us in the bunker."

“She—she was?” Dean asked in surprise, his heart hammering at his assumption that they were talking about him, and scolded himself for being selfish.

“Yes,” Cas replied, with a touch of irritation in his voice, “I believe I made it clear that it is her home now, as much as it is ours."

Dean turned a fraction to study Cas in profile, his heart leaping this time for Cas’ easy acceptance of the bunker as his home, couldn’t resist leaning across the seats to kiss him on the cheek, and smiled out over the road ahead, feeling Cas watching him with his own smile.

***

“It’s good to see you, Dean."

Dean squeezed Eileen tight for a few seconds before pulling back, gripping lightly around her upper arms. “It’s good to see you too,” he said quietly, then stepped to the side and made a soft introduction between Cas and Eileen, watching their brief hug and the flurry of their fingers in a much lengthier greeting.

“Coffee?” Sam called, nodding for Dean to follow, and Dean leaned on the counter beside him as he watched Cas pull out a chair for Eileen at the table, then absently make his way around the kitchen pulling out mugs and plates as though he’d been doing it for months.

The pie they’d bought on the way home was cut up, and the few groceries they’d picked up slotted away, and the four of them sank down together in easy conversation for a few minutes that felt so natural to Dean, he was struck once more with the idea of how much _normal_ he could really do with in his life.

“So, case was a bust?” Sam asked once they’d worked through a slice of pie each, already sliding another on to Eileen’s waiting plate.

“I mean I guess,” Dean shrugged, “it’s not… I guess we just have to trust that this guy’s not gonna get all… you know. Typical-witchy on us."

“We can go back to visit,” Cas suggested, plucking at a piece of cherry that had fallen from his pie.

“What, see if _our_ house is still up for sale?” Dean huffed, smiling at him and receiving what he thought was a wistful look back.

“Perhaps."

“Thanks for letting me stay here,” Eileen added then, a shy smile for the three of them, and leaning into the crook of Sam’s arm when he threw it around her, tucking into his side for a few seconds before pulling back.

“Hey, it’s your home too now. Whenever you want,” Dean smiled, hoping that Eileen would now become a more regular feature in their lives. Sam’s smile for him was grateful, and Dean made himself a promise that sometime in the near future, he’d make things up to Sam; all the worry he’d put him through when Cas had been gone, all the misplaced anger, all of it.

“It is,” Cas echoed, and Dean’s attention was turned again. Cas sat beside him, warm and whole, was something he’d known without a doubt he’d never get to have again, and yet there he was, smiling back at him with a confident set to his shoulders, as though he knew exactly where he belonged.  

“So. I think, games night,” Sam announced then, sitting back in his chair, and from the angle he was sitting Dean could tell his hand was on Eileen’s waist, as though he couldn’t bear to let her out of his grip.

“Games night?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, “we got beer in, stuff to make nachos, a ton of card games and stuff me and Eileen found when we were—”

“Okay,” Dean interrupted, waving his hand to stop him, “I don’t need to know—”

“Hey—”

“Too much information, you know?”

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam hissed in mortification, his cheeks flaming red, and though Eileen hadn’t quite caught their words, her eyes lingering over his face meant she turned to Dean with a wicked smile and shrugged anyway. Cas smiled behind his coffee as Dean glanced around the table, but added nothing.

“Anyway,” Sam said, clearing his throat, “we got a lot to catch up on. So, maybe you guys need some time to rest up, unpack, whatever. But tonight. Games night. Right?”

“Sounds good, Sammy,” Dean agreed, squeezing Cas’ hand beneath the table, allowing himself to relish in being home.  

***

“So listen; I know you just got back. And you know, more than anything, with Eileen here now, I don’t wanna be doing anything but just… _being_ for a while."

Dean nodded at Sam’s words, took one glance at the tension on his face and turned to the fridge, pulling out beers that he uncapped before handing them over to Sam and Cas, then took a swig of his own. They’d been back barely two days, and Dean’s secret hope for a continuation of a lull in things were dashed by Sam’s expression. Dean tried to rein in his disappointment knowing it was unfair.  

“But?”

“But,” Sam sighed, shoulders slumping as he stretched across the table for his tablet, “I think… I think we need to look at this."

“What is it?” Cas asked, leaning to his side to look at the screen as Dean crossed the room again for chips, then sat down himself.

“I think maybe Jack’s trying to contact us. Me."

“Where is he?” Cas asked immediately, his face morphing from what had been relaxed and at ease to focused and determined.

“I don’t know for sure,” Sam replied with a small smile, “I got a voicemail that… I mean, I know it was Jack, I just… I don’t know when he left it. I only noticed it last night."

“What’d he say?” Dean asked, struck with guilt for his treatment of Jack, knowing he had work to do to make it up to him, that perhaps he’d never quite make it up to him for how much he’d given him by bringing Cas back.

“Just that he was okay, that he hoped we were well, and that Cas was doing okay,” Sam sighed, “nothing about wanting to come back, or what he was doing."

“So? What’ve you found?” Dean asked, nodding towards the tablet Sam was drumming his fingers against.

“There’s a… I don’t know what to call it, actually,” Sam said, swiping his thumb across the tablet screen, “just come across a couple of stories that seem… off."

“Like a… disturbance in the force?” Dean retorted, receiving a scowl from Sam, and an amused smile from Cas that he had to answer with a wink.

“More like some accidental… I don’t know. Injuries,” Sam amended for him, his finger tracing over the screen before stabbing at it, then turning it for Dean to see.

“‘Fight broken up by unknown bystander, both hospitalised?’” Dean read, not able to keep the doubt from his voice.

“Yeah,” Sam nodded with enthusiasm, “look."

Dean followed Sam’s finger to the passage he wanted him to read, taking in the details of the scene where an argument had broken out during a sale and the two people fighting were found unconscious in the aisle, security camera footage capturing a man who could potentially match Jack’s description.  

“Only this?” Dean asked, pushing the tablet back.

“Nope,” Sam replied, shaking his head, pulling up three similar stories.

“We need to find him,” Cas said, his voice full of contrition, leaving Dean reaching across the table to squeeze his hand.

“We will."

“I do not believe he would intend to hurt anyone."

“Doesn’t look like he was trying to do anything but help,” Sam told him, smiling in reassurance.

“So what are you thinking?” Dean asked, nodding towards the tablet.

“Well. All these happened around Washington; maybe Jack’s looking around where his mom was living, working, trying to… I don’t know. Understand his roots or something."

“Could be."

“So we should go,” Cas said, turning his gaze between the two of them.

“We will,” Sam smiled.

“Yeah, we will,” Dean agreed, knowing they didn’t have much to go on, already thinking they could wait to see if any more stories came up before setting off, but the urgency in Cas’ gaze for him half-made Dean want them to leave there and then. “We’ll figure it—”

“Good morning."

“Hey,” Sam’s voice became soft, turning his head entirely to greet Eileen as she walked into the kitchen with a sleepy wave for the three of them.

“You know,” Dean said, waving his bottle to get her attention, “it’s technically _afternoon_ now."

“It is morning until I’ve had coffee,” Eileen insisted, coming to stand beside Sam and stealing his beer.

“I will make coffee,” Cas announced, standing and signing as he spoke. Dean watched him walk, smiling to himself, then catching Sam watching Eileen as she followed Cas, the two of them catching each other’s eyes for a second and smiling, turning to try and follow Eileen and Cas’ conversation.

“We’re not going yet, though,” Sam added, nodding towards Eileen, “she’s not ready to go anywhere. And I’m not leaving here without her."

“I know,” Dean smiled, “none o’ this sounds all that urgent, anyway. Maybe Jack’ll get in contact properly and we’ll… I don’t know. Head wherever he is. Maybe convince him to come back here."

“Yeah,” Sam agreed absently, his lips curved up into a smile, with Dean smiling to himself for the way Sam’s eyes never left Eileen, “yeah, we’ll… we’ll figure it out."

***

“What?”

Dean nudged Sam’s arm as he handed him his coffee, taking in the concentration on his face and the way his mouth curved up into a smile.

“Nothing,” Sam replied, though nodding his head for Dean to see what he was looking at. Through the gap in the doorway, Cas and Eileen were sitting across the table from one another, hands flourishing with ASL as they spoke, Cas’ shoulders shaking with mirth, and Eileen throwing her head back in joyful laughter.

Despite Sam’s monitoring of news articles turning up two more stories that they felt could be linked to Jack, the bunker remained occupied for several more days, with the only time anyone left being for more groceries. But another news story with a slightly more complicated outcome that morning had led to an unspoken agreement between Dean and Sam that they’d have to check it out. Dean hadn’t mentioned it to Cas yet having chosen instead to spend their morning curled up in bed together, and from the looks of things, Eileen had yet to hear about it from Sam.

“I’m trying to follow,” Sam sighed, waving a hand himself, “but they’re moving too fast."

Dean hummed, watching for a few seconds himself and picking out perhaps two, or three of the words Cas had already taught him, but feeling as clueless as Sam. “You realize… they could be talking about _us_?” he pointed out, taking a sip at his coffee.

“You realize they’re gonna use this against us every opportunity they get?” Sam snorted back, but his smile was even wider for it.  

“Yeah."

Sam groaned then, head falling forward, nudging against Dean’s arm. “You think a year ago, we’d be standing here like this?”

Dean thought about a glib retort. About how they’d stood there with coffee a hundred times, enjoying the last few moments of calm before setting off for a case a hundred more. About how _weird_ it was them being normal for once, both having people they loved in their lives at the same time, ones that looked like they were planning on sticking around.  

But then Dean looked at Cas—barefoot despite complaining about cold floors, cross-legged on a hardbacked chair like he’d spent an eternity doing yoga, relaxed in his favorite blue shirt with the collar likely half-unbuttoned, and stubble already creeping across his jaw after his recent first shave—and couldn’t find anything glib to say at all.  

“I’d say we lucked out big time,” he said instead, smiling over the lip of his mug, trying and failing to follow Eileen and Cas’ gestures, _excited_ at the thought of learning ASL, of watching Sam and Eileen together, of a future spent entirely by Cas’ side. The next few days, or weeks, or however long it was going to take to search for Jack were going to be tough, but knowing he had Cas there with him, and seeing Sam have the same support from Eileen, meant all Dean could do was embrace whatever they were about to deal with. Knowing their days would start and end with enough love to keep them going, however hard things might get.

“You wanna be the one to tell ‘em we’re setting off soon?” he asked Sam, thinking he might be able to stand there and watch the easy conversation between Eileen and Cas for hours if it meant they were both safe, and happy, and _there_.

“Maybe a few more minutes,” Sam replied, eyes fixed on Eileen so full of joy, and tenderness, that Dean couldn’t help smiling, even tearing up a little at seeing him so happy.

“Guess we got time,” he shrugged, slapping against Sam’s arm, turning to smile in Cas’ direction for another moment, then spinning on his heel, adding the final things he wanted to put in the bag he’d be sharing with Cas, and heading out to the Impala.

***

 


	17. Epilogue: five years later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... we're done! Special thanks to Margaretkate84, who's apparently the only one reading this as it's posting :) big love and hugs for you xx

“Cas, c’mon, man; you’ll freeze."

Cas accepted the blanket thrown around his shoulders without complaint, smiling harder at the soft kiss that followed, and even more for the hot chocolate pushed into his hands. “It isn’t that cold."

“Yeah, it is, Cas,” Dean disagreed, wrapping up in his own blanket, reaching out to the railing on their porch and mentally adding it on his list of jobs, then crowding closer to Cas as he looked up at the stars in quiet contentment. This had been a tradition every evening since they’d come there, whatever the weather, but Dean was especially pleased to see it was a clear sky that evening. With both of them having long days, they needed the silence.

“Is everyone asleep?” Cas asked after a few minutes, eyes still fixed on the stars overhead.

“I think so."  

“Even James?” Cas asked a little doubtfully, and Dean squeezed around his waist in reassurance, nuzzling into his shoulder. Smiling to himself at the gentle care Cas was showing for their newest addition.

“Even James,” he promised, catching the glint of the ring on Cas’ finger as he raised his mug to his lips, and unconsciously smiling for that as well.

“He’s… not settling well,” Cas sighed, still sounding worried. Dean thought of the boy that had been brought to them just three nights ago after being orphaned by a werewolf attack, and silently agreed with him.

“No, but he will,” Dean tried to reassure him, “just gotta give him time; he’s only eight."

“Yes, but he—”

A loud crash to the side of the house had them both startling to action, a gun hidden out of sight in a panel in the wall drawn by Dean in seconds, and another in Cas’ grip just seconds later from inside a planter.

“Oops."

“Danny?” Dean called out in disbelief, his heart pounding even as the teen came into sight, face screwed up in contrition. “How the hell’d you get out without me seeing?”

“You’re getting old?” Danny suggested, though any indignant retort Dean might have been about to give was stolen for the wince on his face.  

“You okay?”

“I… tried jumping the fence."

“Dammit, Danny. We talked about this,” Dean sighed, stowing the gun in the waistband of his jeans. “If you wanna go out, just, talk to me, man. You know we still gotta work on that fence."

“And it appears we need to… also mend a pair of jeans,” Cas added, calling Dean’s attention to the rip in Danny’s jean leg.

“You. Inside."  

Danny slouched at Dean’s pointed finger but did as instructed, giving Dean the view of the back of his sandy brown head as he trailed into the house as he stashed the gun back in its place out of sight. “It’s gonna sting, isn’t it?”

“Depends how deep you cut yourself, idjit,” Dean sighed, already grabbing up the first aid kit they kept in the kitchen and watching Cas lay out a sheet on their couch for Danny to lay on, discreetly turning away as Danny shrugged out of his jeans, complaining the entire time.

“Here, I don’t wanna see none ‘o that,” Dean joked, throwing a blanket in his direction so he could cover himself, then grimacing at the gash on his shin.

“Why did you go out, Danny?” Cas asked calmly, sitting in the chair nearest him, probably in an attempt to distract him as Dean sank to his knees to inspect the wound, grimacing again as Danny flinched at his touch.

“‘Cos,” Danny shrugged, “wanted to."

“Do you remember our conversation about honesty, and trust?” Cas asked, and Dean raised his head just enough to see Danny’s shoulders slump further, then turned away again to hide his smile. None of the kids that came through their house liked disappointing Cas, but Danny, who’d been with them almost a year, hated it most of all. Still didn’t stop him sneaking out from time to time, though.  

“Yeah, Cas. I’m sorry. I won’t—”

“It is pointless telling me that you will not do it again, when you in fact will,” Cas countered, before Danny could say anything. And Danny let out a little whine than Dean knew was in mortification, risked one more peek at his face to see the pleading way he was looking at Cas, and had to make an excuse to leave the room for a dressing to hide his laugh.

He returned a few minutes later to hear their calm conversation, overhearing Cas repeating the history of their house which Danny often asked him to. Around three years ago, when everything had seemed calm and hopeful in their world—Jack was safe, and thriving, Mary had found their way back to them through the rift and announced that Lucifer was dead, and Sam and Eileen were expecting—Jody had called out of the blue about a case that proved to be bigger than anything they’d ever had to deal with.

A long, long fight had ensued, with the world teetering on the edge of yet another apocalypse, all hands on deck from every hunter in their network needing to be involved. Sam and Eileen had argued for the first and only time Dean had ever seen in the five years since she’d come back to them after her coma. Sam wanted her holed up and protected, and Eileen was determined to join in with the fight no matter how hard he’d protested. Jack, who’d grown close Mary, had gone into full protective mode, his powers that Dean had once feared would be the thing to end their existence had proved to be the very thing that ended up protecting it. Dean would forever need to find ways to thank Jack; first for bringing Cas back to him, and second for the way he’d protectively shielded Mary in that final battle.

Dean and Cas had taken one look at the world around them in the aftermath of that fight, and decided it was the catalyst they needed to try another kind of life.

They’d discovered the house through records uncovered at the bunker, one of a number of properties owned by the Men of Letters. A good sized building with a solid foundation, just north of Topeka. It had lots of land and was in need of a lot of attention, but when Dean had first set eyes on it, and saw Cas’ reaction to it, he knew it would be their home.  

Of course, living the life they had, cutting all ties with hunting hadn’t truly felt like a possibility, so Dean and Cas had found a compromise; initially as a safe house for travelling hunters offering shelter, training, and refreshment, and in time a home of sorts for the kids impacted by hunting and the supernatural. Both Cas and Dean had found a little work in their neighborhood, with Cas becoming a firm fixture in their small library, and Dean happily becoming a part time mechanic, and their set up meant their role in the community as a foster family was easily established and welcomed.  

Sometimes Dean still woke up convinced he’d been trapped in a djinn vision when he took the time to consider the life they lead, but then Cas would smile at him and lean in for a kiss, or give him a look of intent at the dinner table that thankfully went over the heads of their sometimes-charges, and Dean would find himself beaming back at him, thanking whoever was listening for his good luck.

“Sometimes, Danny, it is difficult to forgive ourselves for things that we have done, or that were out of our control, or even for decisions we have made that were for the best intentions, yet did not work out as planned. That does not mean that we are… irredeemable."

Dean came back to himself from his musings to hear Cas’ solemn advice for Danny, first aching for Danny—still blaming himself for the death of his younger sister when he couldn’t save her from a house fire caused by a ghost—and then with a surge of pride for Cas, who had finally found that self-forgiveness himself.

They’d married, first informally in the bunker kitchen with a simple exchange of rings four years ago, and then more formally once they’d moved into their house, celebrating behind walls of peeling wallpaper and dated paint, with their small circle of friends and family, turning the occasion into something of a house warming and decorating party, as well as a wedding celebration all rolled into one.  

And now look at them, Dean thought to himself taking in the gentleness in Cas’ expression. His heart surged with love. A home, a life, a family; as _normal_ as they were going to get. Just like he’d once only dreamt about.

“Like when… Alex left the back door open, and we had to herd in all the kittens?” Danny said, sounding much younger than his fifteen years in that moment. It made Dean’s heart ache to hear it, his careful ministrations to Danny's injured leg barely noticed, with how engrossed in conversation he was with Cas. And it also made Dean think of Alex, who’d been placed with them until a more permanent home could be found, and was still with them six months later.

“Exactly,” Cas smiled. As though on cue, a small ginger cat stomped its way up to them, demanding to sit in Cas’ lap. Danny reached out to scratch over its ears as Dean grabbed him by the ankle to stop him moving around too much, and the cat kept Danny's attention as Dean pressed the last piece of tape in place over the gauze now covering his wound.

“When’s Maura coming?” Danny asked then, leaving Dean to pinch at his knee in affection as he stood and cleared up the mess he’d made fixing his leg.  

“Probably for the weekend, actually,” he smiled, thinking of his niece, and Sam’s excitement on the phone just the day before, announcing he and Eileen were going to pick up a puppy as a surprise.

“Sam’s taking Eileen away for a dirty weekend? Nice,” Danny declared, leaving Dean to flinch and turn away.

“Danny,” Cas chastised softly, and Dean grinned to himself at Danny’s mock innocent, _what?_ as he walked away.

“Jack’s coming too,” Dean announced when he walked back in with a glass of milk and plate of cookies for Danny. He pretended to roll his eyes, but then dunked three cookies in in quick succession, humming around the lip of the glass.

“He’s awesome,” Danny declared, fascinated with Jack from the moment they’d met, following him from room to room whenever he visited, doing everything he could to get his attention.

“Yeah, well, he’ll be even more awesome if he doesn’t show up to find you jumping our fence."

“I won’t,” Danny denied, “not if I know he’s coming—”

“Great,” Dean huffed, nudging so he could sit on the couch beside him, “so, we feed you. Clothe you. Put up with that _noise_ you listen to when you’re supposed to be getting ready for school in the morning, and yet _Jack’s_ awesome, ‘cos—”

“Can I help it if you’re an old man stuck in the musical past?”

“Can I help it if I ground your ass for a week and give you all the worse chores to do around the house?” Dean retorted with a raised eyebrow.

“Fine,” Danny sighed, “Zeppelin are gods."

“Damn right."

“Perhaps you should think about bed since you have school in the morning,” Cas suggested then, in a tone that made it clear it was anything but a suggestion.

“Fine,” Danny sighed again, draining his milk and taking the glass to the kitchen before making his way upstairs with a mumbled _goodnight_ as he passed.

“I want to check on James,” Cas announced then, depositing the cat on Dean’s knee before also leaving the room. Dean stared after him for a second absently stroking the cat’s flank.

“Whaddya think, Aslan?” Dean asked the cat, lifting it up to look in the eye. He was glad the antihistamines he took were effective enough to that Cas could have all the pets he wanted. “How ‘bout we get your uncle Sammy to pick us up a new friend too, huh?”

Aslan meowed in what Dean decided was approval, and debated how many seconds it might take him to convince Cas.

His cell buzzed then, and with one hand still firmly gripped on Aslan, Dean reached into his back pocket to drag it out, tilting his head back to look at the screen and arguing with himself that he didn’t need reading glasses. Claire’s message had him both smiling and groaning; she’d taken to  _checking in_ ever since Cas had read her the riot act about a year ago for not answering his calls, and it had morphed into an odd game they played, where she’d send random pictures to them both from whatever hunt location she was on, leaving them both guessing and worrying at the same time.

“Easy,” he said out loud, “rugaru. Arizona."

“Do you think that blood on the ground is hers?” Cas asked coming back into the room and sinking down on the couch beside Dean, ducking under his arm.

“I think she… better be looking after herself,” Dean replied, pressing a loud kiss to his temple and nuzzling there, smiling as Cas settled his head into his neck with a sigh, reaching out to play with Aslan’s tail. “How’s James?”

“Asleep,” Cas told him, turning a little to kiss at his neck, “I do not want to think what he must be dreaming about. The comforter looked more like a bow tie, and he was almost on the floor."

“Sam was a wriggler,” Dean smiled, pressing a kiss into the back of Cas’ hair.

“Unlike you, who doesn’t move at all unless there is a threat, or offer of bacon, or coffee,” Cas retorted.

“Cas,” Dean protested, “I move for all _kindsa_ other things. You know that,” and Cas lifted his head to smile, then leaned in for a kiss.

“Do you have much work tomorrow?”

“Two cars,” Dean said, “after lunch. Nothing urgent."

“I don’t start at the library until eleven."

“Are you… telling me you want an early night, Cas?” Dean asked, opening up their kiss a little and depositing an indignant Aslan on the floor.

“Yes."

“Well, okay then, Cas,” Dean agreed, with one more kiss to his forehead before standing, hauling Cas to his feet.

“Of course, we still have to be up to prepare breakfast,” Cas added, lifting the plate of cookies Dean had brought in and stealing one before taking it to the kitchen and turning out the light.

“Yeah, ‘cos if we let Alex cook bacon again, I’m gonna have to get a new fire extinguisher."  

“And another new frying pan,” Cas pointed out, reaching out for the final light switch before they got to the stairs.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, tangling his fingers through Cas’ and tugging on them as they climbed the stairs together. “Hey, Cas. How’d you feel about us getting a dog?”

  



End file.
